THE 

ALBATROSS  NOVELS 

By  ALBERT  ROSS 
23  Volumes 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold  at  the  price  you 
paid  for  this  volume 

Black  Adonis,  A 
Garston  Bigamy,  The 
Her  Husband's  Friend 
His  Foster  Sister 
His  Private  Character 
In  Stella's  Shadow 
Love  at  Seventy 
Love  Gone  Astray 
Moulding  a  Maiden 
Naked  Truth,  The 
New  Sensation,  A 
Original  Sinner,  An 
Out  of  Wedlock 
Speaking  of  Ellen 
Stranger  Than  Fiction 
Sugar  Princess,  A 
That  Gay  Deceiver 
Their  Marriage  Bond 
Thou  Shalt  Not 
Thy  Neighbor's  Wife 
Why  I'm  Single 
Young  Fawcett's  Mabel 
Young  Miss  Giddy 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO. 
Publishers  ::  ::  New  York 


THE  GARSTON  BIGAMY, 


BY  ALBERT  Ross, 

AUTHO&  OF 

MOULDING  A  MAIDEN,"    "!N  STELLA'S  SHADOW/ 

"HER   HUSBAND'S   FRIEND,"  "His   PRIVATE 

CHARACTER,"  "SPEAKING  OF   ELLEW," 

"THOU  SHALT  NOT,"  ETC. 


"/  had  not  kissed  you  then.  There  an 
tigers  in  Asia,  I  have  read>  that  having 
tasted  human  flesh  will  eat  no  other 
food." — Page  151. 


NEW   YORK: 

COPYRIGHT,  1»tl,  BY  0.  W.   DlkLlNQHAM. 


G.    W.    Dillingham     Co.,    Publish** 

\Allrights  reserved.} 


CONTENTS. 


How  the  Trouble  Began,      ...      9 

"  Where  had  he  heard  that  tune  f  .    19 

Brunette  and  Blonde,    *        .  .  .29 

The  Girl  with  the  Ankles,     .  .40 

"  We  have  made  a  vow,"       .  .  .    54 

"  Why,  you  love  them  both  !"  .  .    65 

Examining  the  Summer-House,  .  .     74 

A  Trip  up  the  River,     .        .  .  .85 

"  You  must  fight  these  men,"  .  .    98 

"But  that  is  a  serious  thing,"  .  .no 

In  the  Upper  Berth,       .        .  .  .120 

"  Do  you  love  my  son  ?"  130 

"There  are  tigers  in  Asia,"  .  .  .  142 

Alma's  Cambric  Wrapper,     .  .  .  154 

Cutting  the  Mill-bank,  .        .  .  .166 

"  It  is  Edith,  of  course,"        .  .  .178 
Buying  a  Son-in-Law,    ....  186 

"  You  do  not  know  my  father,"  .  .194 

The  Nature  of  a  Girl,   .        .  .  .199 

"Considering  his  temptations,"  .  .  ao8 

Cliff  Nelson's  Protest,  .        .  .  .991 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  FAS* 

XXII.  Like  a  Man  in  Liquor,        .  .  .  229 

XXIII.  "  It's  for  Edith,"  he  mused,  .  .  233 

XXIV.  No  Sleep  for  Alma,     .        .  .  .243 
XXV.  "  What  was  that  sound  r  .  .  .250 

XXVI.  Nursing  His  Revenge,        .  .  .257 

XXVII.  "  I  know  her  character,"      .  .  .263 

XXVIII.  Gerald  in  a  Fever,       .        .  .  .269 

XXIX.  "I  think  I  could  kill  him!"  .  .281 

XXX.  On  the  Way  to  London,     .  .  .  290 

XXXI.  A  Cry  for  Help, 297 

XXXII.  Where  Women  Risk  Death,  .  .  307 

XXXIII.  "God  knows  that  I  love  you!"  .  .  316 

XXXIV.  An  Angel  from  Heaven,     .  .  .323 
XXXV.  Saved  by  a  Miracle,    .        .  .  .330 


TO  MY  READERS. 


The  publisher  tells  me  that  he  has  left  two  pages 
for  my  usual  preface,  and  I  wonder  what  it  is  best  to 
fill  them  with.  For  really  I  have  very  little  to  say  to 
you  this  time,  except  to  renew  the  assurances  of  my 
gratitude  for  the  marvelous  success  you  have  made 
for  me,  and  to  express  the  hope  that  I  have  again 
succeeded  in  producing  something  which  will  meet 
with  your  favor. 

Gerald  Garston  is  not  a  hero.  Very  few  men  arc 
if  you  come  to  think  of  it.  It  is  the  women  of  this 
world  who  do  the  noble  things.  How  many  men 
have  you  known  who  would  sacrifice  their  all  for  a 
woman  ?  But  such  a  sacrifice  on  the  woman's  part  is 
so  common  that  it  hardly  evokes  comment. 

It  is  my  method  to  paint  things  a  little  as  they  are, 
and  not  altogether  as  they  ought  to  be.  It  is  one  thing 
to  discuss  immorality,  and  quite  another  to  defend 
it.  The  principal  characters  in  this  story  made  a 
grievous  error,  and  they  learned  it  after  much  suffer- 
ing. If  I  have  not  made  that  apparent  I  have  surely 
failed  in  what  I  meant  to  do. 

The  carelessness  of  American  marriage  laws  is 
notorious.  Perhaps  in  no  other  civilized  country 
could  such  an  escape  as  Gerald's  be  so  easily  found. 
That  it  is  possible  here  no  one  will  attempt  to  deny, 

(viij 


but  It  win  not  always  be  so.  Some  day  your  chil- 
dren will  pick  up  a  copy  of  this  book,  and  ask  if  laws 
like  these  ever  actually  existed. 

When  this  volume  is  published  I  expect  to  be  in 
the  south  of  Europe.  The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his 
hire,  and  the  author  must  have  his  rest.  But  my 
publisher  will  admonish  me  if  I  idle  too  long,  and  my 
next  book  may  be  written  where  the  sweet  face  of 
nature  smiles  across  the  great  inland  sea. 

This  will  explain  the  reason  if  my  correspondents, 
who  have  become  so  numerous,  fail  to  receive  replies 
to  their  kind  and  flattering  epistles. 

ALBERT  ROM, 


Address  t 
No.  35  West  23d  strcd. 


THE  GARSTON  BIGAMY. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  TROUBLE  BEGAN. 

Nothing  but  grain  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 

Nothing  but  wheat  and  corn  and  oats  and  barley 
and  rye.  Colonel  Staples,  who  was  showing  the 
country  to  Mr.  Grosschen,  agent  of  the  Iowa  Invest- 
ment Company,  stopped  the  handsome  pair  of 
horses  that  he  drove  in  order  to  allow  his  guest  full 
time  to  take  in  the  prospect.  The  unpracticed  eye 
of  the  new  agent,  whose  principals  were  Eastern 
capitalists,  could  not  tell  the  wheat  from  the  rye, 
nor  the  barley  from  the  oats.  He  saw  merely  a  fas- 
cinating succession  of  waves  of  green,  through  which 
the  summer  wind  rippled  like  a  breeze  in  the  verit- 
able waves  of  the  ocean. 

The  horses  were  presently  started  again,  and  the 
two  men  rode  up  out  of  the  ravine,  where  a  wider 
range  met  their  vision.  There  were  the  steeples  of 
a  village  over  toward  the  west.  There  was  a  mill, 
evidently  used  for  the  grinding  of  grain,  and  by  its 
side  a  reservoir,  fed  by  a  stream  that  meandered 
through  the  country  to  the  north  of  it  and  furnished 


10  THE   GAE8TON   BZOAMT. 

drinking  ground  to  the  cattle  on  a  dozen  farms  „*. 
fore  it  turned  the  wheel  that  set  the  heavy  machinery 
in  motion.  There  were  clumps  of  trees  here  and 
there  upon  the  mostly  open  prairie,  and  small  gar- 
dens, protected  by  barbed  wire  fences  from  the  in- 
cursions of  stray  animals.  There  were  bits  of  pas- 
ture, and  glimpses  of  buildings,  and  in  some  places 
laborers  were  at  work  in  the  fertile  fields. 

"It's  a  fine  country/'  said  Colonel  Staples. 
"  There's  no  richer  land  in  the  State,  in  my  opinion. 
You're  safe  to  let  all  the  money  here  you  can  get 
mortgages  for.  But  there's  a  farm,"  he  continued, 
pointing  as  he  spoke,  "that  neither  you  nor  any 
other  man  will  ever  get  an  incumbrance  on.  It's  the 
finest  in  this  region,  twelve  hundred  acres  and  more, 
with  all  the  buildings  needed,  and  the  most  im- 
proved tools  of  every  kind.  It  belongs  to  Alvah 
Adams,  who  owns  the  mill  there  too,  and  the  best 
residence  within  forty  miles,  and  can  lend  you  a  few 
thousand  beside  if  you  happen  to  get  short.  There's 
a  place !  Look  at  it !  You  don't  often  see  land 
kept  like  that  in  these  parts.  You  wouldn't  think, 
would  you,  that  he  came  out  here  twenty-five  years 
ago  with  only  three  hundred  dollars,  and  took  up 
his  hundred  and  sixty  like  any  other  poor  young 
fellow  ?  Well,  that's  what  he  did,  and  all  he's  got 
since  is  by  hard  work,  and  good  farming,  and  look- 
ing ahead.  Nobody  ever  left  him  a  penny,  or  gave 
him  anything  he  didn't  pay  for.  His  father  was  a 
poor  grubber  in  New  Hampshire,  who  let  him  have 
his  "time,"  as  they  call  it  there,  when  he  was  nine- 
teen, and  when  he  died,  a  little  while  ago,  left  less 
than  two  thousand  dollars  as  the  result  of  a  life 
of  toil.  He  willed  this  to  Alvah's  daughter — we  all 


HOW  THE  TROUBLE  BEGAN.          11 

call  him  Alvah, — so  you  can't  say  that  any  of  it  has 
come  to  him.     I  tell  you,  he's  a  man  for  the  town 

and  county  to  be  proud  of  ! " 

Mr.  Grosschen  laughed. 

"It's  lucky  for  the  Iowa  Investment  Company 
that  too  many  of  your  people  don't  follow  in  his 
footsteps,"  he  answered. 

"  Well,  if  you  want  one  of  the  other  kind,  you'll 
find  him  on  the  next  farm,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  and 
p.  mighty  good  specimen,  too.  John  Garston  came 
here  the  same  year  that  Alvah  did,  and  took  up  the 
quarter  section  adjoining  his.  They  had  been  boys 
together  in  the  same  town,  and  when  Alvah  got  a 
notion  that  he  wanted  to  go  West  he  told  John  of 
his  idea.  They  talked  it  over,  sitting  on  a  stone 
fence  back  of  Alvah's  father's  barn,  and  agreed  that 
both  would  ask  the  old  folks  to  give  them  their 
"  time  "  till  they  were  twenty-one,  so  that  they  could 
go  off  somewhere  to  work  and  get  a  little  money  to 
start  with.  It  was  right  there  that  the  trouble  be- 
gan. Alvah's  folks  seem  to  have  been  half  decent 
about  it  and  willing  to  do  something  for  him. 
John's  were  just  of  the  other  kind.  Alvah  came  over 
in  the  morning  to  say  that  he  could  go,  and  John 
had  to  report  that  he  couldn't.  Alvah  offered  to  go 
in  and  argue  the  matter  with  the  old  man  Garston, 
but  it  did  no  good.  He  was  a  tough  skinflint,  who 
proposed  to  get  what  he  could  out  of  his  boys  now 
that  they  were  getting  big  enough  to  do  something. 
There  is  a  notion  down  in  that  part  of  the  country 
that  a  father's  will  is  law,  and  John  never  thought 
of  running  away.  He  just  gave  up  on  the  spot  and 
went  back  to  hoeing  corn  and  grubbing  roots,  but 
the  ugliness  in  him  grew  faster  than  any  other  crop 


he  raised.    He  got  so  hateful  that  the  old  man  was 

glad,  I  guess,  when  the  time  came  that  he  could  go. 
I've  heard  that  John  never  stopped  to  say  good-bye, 
or  to  ask  the  paternal  blessing,  but  threw  down  his 
rake — it  was  haying  time — and  started.  They 
couldn't  think  for  an  hour  or  two  where  he'd  gone, 
till  one  of  his  brothers  happened  to  remember  that  it 
was  his  birthday  and  then  it  struck  the  old  man 
Garston  all  of  a  sudden  that  John  had  asked  him 
once  what  hour  he  was  born,  and  that  he  had  told 
him  it  was  between  ten  and  eleven  in  the  day.  John 
had  given  him  the  benefit  of  the  off  half  hour,  as  the 
clock  had  struck  when  he  started,  but  he  was  never 
seen  in  that  town  after  that  forenoon.** 

Both  the  narrator  of  this  history  and  his  listener 
found  a  good  deal  of  amusement  in  it,  and  the 
Colonel,  after  pausing  to  see  that  Mr.  Grosschen 
was  duly  interested,  continued  his  narrative. 

'*  Some  of  these  facts  the  people  here  know,  and 
some,  I  suppose,  have  grown  with  the  telling,  but 
sure  it  is  that  Alvah  went  down  to  Nashua  and  got 
work  in  one  of  the  factories.  He  saved  every  cent 
ke  could,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  of  age,  came  out 
here  looking  for  a  piece  of  land  to  preempt.  He 
wandered  around  for  awhile  and  then  concluded 
that  he  couldn't  find  anything  better  than  this.  He 
filed  his  papers  and  took  up  the  quarter  section 
where  his  residence  is  now,  and  then  wrote  to  John 
to  come  out  just  as  soon  as  he  could  get  clear.  John 
answered,  saying  he  should  have  to  quit  home  with- 
out a  cent  in  his  pocket  and  that  it  would  be  a  good 
while  before  he  could  earn  enough  to  pay  his  fare 
to  Iowa.  Alvah  thought  it  a  pretty  hard  case,  and 
«s  other  prospectors  were  looking  this  part  of  the 


MAV.  IS 

Country  over,  he  wrote  again,  sending  fifty  dollars 
to  his  friend  and  urging  him  to  waste  no  time  in 
getting  here.  It  was  a  mighty  generous  thing  of 
him  when  you  remember  that  it  was  about  a  fifth  of 
all  he  owned,  and  he  needed  it  to  develop  his  farm 
about  as  bad  as  he  could.  But  he  sent  it,  and  John 
came ;  and  after  looking  around  a  little,  he  picked 
out  the  claim  next  to  Alvah's  and  with  his  help  put 
up  a  shanty  on  it,  according  to  the  government 
regulations,  and  began  to  break  ground.  One  piece 
of  land  was  just  as  good  as  the  other,  for  Alvah  of- 
fered to  swap  even  with  him  if  he  thought  there  was 
any  choice.  That's  the  way  they  started. 

**  Well,  nothing  seemed  to  go  right  with  John.  He 
and  Alvah  exchanged  works,  for  a  spell,  but  Alvah 
had  enough  to  buy  a  yoke  of  oxen  and  a  plow,  and 
John  had  to  hire  his  plowing  done.  John  always  said 
it  wasn't  a  fair  race,  and  he  got  discouraged  before 
he  reached  the  quarter-post.  He  couldn't  see  any- 
thing except  that  Alvah  had  got  ahead  and  that  he 
couldn't  catch  him.  It's  been  the  same  from  that 
day  to  this.  Alvah  has  kept  forehanded,  always 
having  something  laid  by,  and  never  going  into  debt, 
while  John  has  been  a  little  to  the  wrong  side  of  the 
ledger  all  the  time.  It's  seemed  to  work  on  his  feel- 
ings. He  compares  everything  of  his  to  Alvah's. 
Let  him  have  a  crop  this  year  bigger  than  he  ever 
had  before  and  he  will  look  across  the  fence  and  tell 
you  Alvah's  is  bigger.  Tell  him  he's  got  a  hundred 
and  sixty  acres  of  the  best  land  in  Iowa,  he'll  answer 
that  it's  mortgaged  for  all  it's  worth  and  that  Alvah's 
got  twelve  hundred  and  forty  without  a  cent  of  in- 
cumbrance  on  it.  And  that  isn't  the  greatest  ground 
of  grievance  that  he's  got  against  Alvah,  either." 


14  THE   GARSTON   BIGAMY. 

Mr.  Grosschen  looked  much  interested,  and  in- 
quired with  elevated  eyebrows  what  else  there  was 
to  annoy  this  peculiar  and  unhappy  man. 

"It  was  a  woman  that  finished  whatever  of  com- 
mon sense  he  had  left  in  him,"  said  the  Colonel, 
dropping  his  voice  instinctively,  though  there  was 
no  person  other  than  himself  and  his  guest  within 
hearing.  "  After  he  had  worked  away  at  his  land  for 
a  year  or  two,  there  moved  into  the  neighborhood  a 
widow  with  a  handsome  daughter.  The  widow  was 
of  Spanish  descent,  several  generations  back,  and 
her  daughter  inherited  the  rich  dark  beauty  of  that 
race.  The  young  men  hereabouts  were  all  wild  over 
her,  but  the  mother  was  proud  as  she  was  poor,  and 
declared  that  none  of  those  who  aspired  to  the  young 
lady's  hand  were  good  enough  to  be  considered  eli- 
gible. Among  those  who  tried  to  win  her  was  John 
Garston.  If  ever  he  was  sincere  in  anything  it  was 
in  his  love  and  admiration  for  that  girl.  He  forgot 
his  work,  neglecting  everything  on  his  place  for  an 
entire  season,  so  wrapt  up  was  he  in  this  creature, 
whose  mother  had  sent  men  flying  with  ten  times 
his  brains  and  a  hundred  times  his  possessions.  At 
last  the  senora  spoke  to  him  with  plainness,  forbid- 
ding him  to  come  to  the  house.  The  daughter 
obeyed  every  word  of  her  mother's  without  question. 
He  had  a  stormy  scene  with  both  of  them.  They 
were  so  alarmed  that  they  sent,  or  the  mother  did, 
for  an  officer.  John  was  hardly  less  than  a  era// 
man  that  day,  but  he  went  away  quietly  at  last,  and 
it  seemed  for  awhile  as  if  he  had  got  over  his  infat- 
uation. Then  came  the  crowning  blow.  Within  a 
year  it  was  announced  ^at  tne  senorita  was  to  mar- 
ry  Alvah  Adams  J  " 


BOW  THB  rROUBLE  BEGAN.  IS 

"  That  was  hard  luck,"  commented  Mr.  Grosschen. 

"Somebody  told  it  to  John,  in  the  post-office,  and 
he  staggered  as  if  he  had  been  stabbed  at  the  he>irt. 
There  was  fear  that  mischief  would  be  done,  but 
nothing  happened.  He  went  back  to  his  worlf  and 
was  only,  to  outward  appearance,  a  little  mor«  surly 
than  he  used  to  be.  Soon  after  Alvah's  mg/riage 
John  brought  home  a  wife  from  another  towi/.  He 
never  ceased  to  speak  to  Alvah  when  they  mut,  but 
the  conversations  were  never  very  long  on<s.  He 
hasn't  forgiven  him,  and  he  won't,  but  I  guess  that's 
all  it'll  ever  amount  to.  Some  people  at  first' advise<J 
Alvah  to  be  careful,  and  to  carry  a  pistol,  buf  he  only 
laughed  at  them.  More  than  twenty  ye*rs  havq 
passed  now,  and  things  have  gone  on  just  (he  same. 
Here's  his  house." 

The  horses  were  brought  to  a  walk  as  t!/e  gentle- 
men passed  the  handsome  mansion  and  grounds  of 
the  wealthiest  man  in  Jefferson.  It  is  not  the  habit 
of  the  ordinary  Western  farmer  to  devcue  a  great 
deal  of  attention  to  the  merely  ornamental,  and  Mr. 
Adams'  place  was  decidedly  unique  in  *hfs  respect 
among  those  about  it.  The  house,  tasti  ly  designed, 
roomy,  and  surrounded  by  broad  veiandas,  stood 
upon  rising  ground,  five  hundred  feet  from  the  high- 
way, and  was  reached  by  a  winding  driveway  bor- 
dered with  Lombardy  poplars.  The  spacious  lawns 
on  each  side  were  well  kept,  and  were  dotted  with 
shrubs  and  trees  that  added  much  to  their  loveliness. 
Fine  buildings,  used  as  the  family  stable,  carriage 
house,  etc.,  were  visible  beyond,  but  those  intended 
for  the  working  teams,  vehicles  and  tools,  as  well  as 
for  the  cattle,  were  some  distance  away,  shaded  from 
the  street  by  an  artificial  grove  and  reached  by  a 


18  w 

road  running  from  another  avenue.  There  was  ft 
conservatory  and  even  several  fountains,  besides 
other  evidences  of  thrift  and  taste,  exciting  the  envy 
of  many  of  the  neighbors,  who  could  not  see,  as  they 
expressed  it,  why  an  Iowa  farmer  need  put  on  the 
style  of  a  "  Fifth  Avenue  New  Yorker." 

Far  away  stretched  the  fields  of  this  prosperous 
man,  the  evidences  of  careful  cultivation  being  fully 
apparent  on  every  side.  Clearly  nothing  was 
wasted  on  this  large  estate.  The  fences  were  in 
perfect  order,  and  built  of  materials  likely  to  last 
for  many  years.  Where  a  piece  of  land  was  low,  a 
carefully  constructed  ditch  had  been  dug.  Where 
it  was  so  situated  that  it  was  in  danger  of  suffering 
from  dryness,  irrigating  pipes  had  been  laid.  Land 
was  so  cheap  in  Iowa  when  these  improvements 
were  first  introduced  that  many  of  Adams'  fellow 
farmers  sneered  at  them,  but  he  went  on  his  own 
way,  paying  no  attention  to  their  raillery.  He  was 
obliged  to  keep  a  large  force  of  men,  and  car- 
ried out  these  improvements  in  seasons  when  they 
had  plenty  of  surplus  time  on  their  hands.  He  cer- 
tainly had  the  satisfaction  of  owning  the  best  kept 
farm  in  the  State,  and  one  that  produced  more  on 
the  average  per  acre  than  any  other.  And  if  this 
were  not  enough,  his  comfortable  bank  account  had 
long  ago  proved  that  there  was  something  worth 
considering  in  methods  that  placed  one  financially  in 
advance  of  those  who  criticised  him. 

Starting  the  horses  into  an  easy  trot  the  travellers 
soon  came  opposite  the  farm  of  John  Garston.  No 
information  other  than  that  afforded  by  the  eye  was 
needed  to  tell  where  the  line  of  Mr.  Adams'  land 
ended  and  that  of  his  neighbor  began.  On  the  Gar- 


It 


•ton  place  no  attempt  whatever  had  been  made  at 
ornamentation  and  hardly  any  at  even  ordinary  care 
for  appearances.  There  was  the  common  farm- 
house, with  dilapidated  outbuildings.  Carts,  plows, 
etc.,  were  scattered  about  the  yards,  exposed  to  the 
weather.  A  pile  of  uncut  firewood  and  a  rusty  axe 
Added  to  the  general  evidence  of  shiftlessness.  A 
cow  grazed  untethered  on  what  might  be  called  by 
courtesy  the  front  lawn,  occasionally  varying  her 
meal  by  breaking  the  branches  from  a  young  apple 
tree  that  Garston  had  planted  in  one  of  his  moments 
of  extraordinary  enterprise. 

"  He  wouldn't  fix  that  yard  if  you  were  to  pay 
him  for  it,"  said  Colonel  Staples.  "  He  likes  to 
brood  on  the  hard  luck  he  has  had  in  comparison 
with  Alvah  Adams,  and  he  has  done  it  so  long  that 
he  really  takes  delight  in  making  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  places  as  great  as  he  can.  There's  only 
one  thing  that  comforts  him,  and  that's  his  son  Ger- 
ald. The  boy  is  a  fine  young  fellow — about  twenty, 
now — and  is  nearly  through  college.  But  it  isn't 
altogether  because  John  has  a  son  that  makes  him 
happy — it's  a  good  deal  more  because  Alvah  hasn't. 
Alvah's  got  a  girl,  seventeen  years  old,  just  the  age 
of  my  Edith — they've  been  companions  ever  since 
they  were  babies — but  the  desire  of  his  life  has  been 
for  a  boy.  John  knows  this,  and  I  think  it's  the  only 
thing  that  keeps  him  from  dying  of  ugliness.  He's 
said  to  me  many  a  time,  *  Alvah  would  give  that 
mill  of  his  and  half  his  land  for  a  boy  like  mine,  but 
he  can't  have  one  f  Rich  as  he  is,  I  have  one  thing 
that  no  money  of  his  can  buy  him  !'  If  you  are 
here  next  month  you'll  see  Gerald,  and  you'll  find 
bim  very  different  from  bis  father.  Queer  how  little 


18  THE    OAKSTON   BIGAMY. 

pedigree  seems  to  count  in  the  human  race,  some- 
times !" 

A  big  black  dog  at  the  mouth  of  an  unpainted 
kennel  growled  savagely  at  the  passers,  and  seemed 
regretful  that  he  could  not  break  his  chain  and  get 
at  them,  in  order  to  revenge  the  slighting  words  in 
reference  to  his  master.  A  hen  with  three  half- 
grown  chickens  scratched  vigorously  at  what  might 
at  some  previous  time  have  been  a  flower-bed.  The 
cow,  in  her  efforts  to  masticate  the  branches  of  the 
apple  tree,  stepped  upon  its  slender  trunk  and 
crushed  it  to  the  earth.  A  slatternly  servant  girl 
came  out  of  the  house,  and,  seeing  what  the  animal 
had  done,  took  up  a  clothes  pole  and  belabored  her 
unmercifully,  causing  the  creature  to  run  toward 
the  barn,  the  milk  streaming  from  her  udder  as  she 
did  so. 

"Any  one  who  would  do  that  to  a  new  milch  cow 
ought  to  be  prosecuted  !"  exclaimed  Colonel  Staples, 
impatiently. 

"I  should  think  young  Gerald  would  find  his 
home  little  to  his  liking,  if  he  is  the  sort  of  lad  you 
describe,"  ventured  Mr.  Grosschen. 

"So  he  does.  But  he  and  his  father  understand 
one  another.  Gerald  is  to  be  a  lawyer.  He  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  farm.  His  father  would 
not  let  him  dictate,  any  more  than  he  would  me, 
about  anything  here.  If  Gerald  made  the  mistake 
of  opposing  him  in  such  matters  there  would  be  a 
break  right  away." 

They  had  passed  the  Garston  boundaries  and 
were  approaching  the  house  where  the  Staples  fam- 
ily resided — a  section  dignified  by  the  name  of  "The 
Village." 


"  WHBRE  HAD  HE  HEARD  111  AT  TUNBP  19 

"  What  kind  of  woman  is  Mrs.  Garston  ?"  asked 
the  financier. 

"  Oh,  she  died  years  ago.  Perhaps  if  she  had 
lived  things  would  not  be  so  bad." 

The  village  of  Jefferson*  had  a  hundred  houses  in 
it.  Colonel  Staples  owned  one  of  the  prettiest  of 
these  and  it  was  soon  reached. 

"  There  come  the  girls,  now,"  said  the  Colonel, 
brightly,  as  he  glanced  down  the  road  toward  the 
High  School 


CHAPTER  II. 
"WHERE  HAD  HE  HEARD  THAT  TUNE?" 

Colonel  Staples  had  not  in  the  least  magnified  the 
jealousy  of  John  Garston  for  Alvah  Adams,  in  the 
talk  which  he  had  with  Mr.  Grosschen.  It  would 
have  been  difficult  for  any  one  to  do  that,  were  his 
statements  ever  so  extravagant.  The  steady  accu- 
mulation of  wealth  by  his  rival,  while  he  could  not 
even  hold  his  own,  had  laid  the  foundation  of  Gars- 
ton's  hatred,  and  the  marriage  of  Adams  to  the 
handsome  senorita  filled  to  the  brim  the  cup  of  his 
hatred.  There  was  no  immediate  outbreak  between 
the  neighbors,  for  Adams  took  care  that  there  should 
be  none,  but  Garston  grew  less  amiable  each  year, 
being  wholly  unable  to  conceal  the  bitterness  that 
was  in  him. 

•  This  is  not  the  Greene  County  Jefferson,  as  the  reader  wffl 
readily  percehrc.— A.R. 


10  THX   GARSTOX   EIGAMY. 

At  the  time  of  Alvah's  marriage  John  tried  hard  t* 
make  himself  believe  that  he  did  not  care.  He  said 
to  himself  that  this  girl  with  her  extravagant  no* 
tions  would  ruin  her  husband  by  the  luxuries  which 
her  tastes  would  demand.  She  would  not  long  be 
satisfied  with  the  humble  cottage  to  which  he  took 
her,  or  willing  to  ride  in  the  old  fashioned  wagon 
which  had  answered  for  him. 

But  this  did  not  give  him  much  comfort,  for  the 
wish  to  wed  this  girl  had  been  the  strongest  pas- 
sion of  his  life,  and  he  could  not  live  it  down,  try 
as  he  might.  And  it  did  not  add  to  his  serenity 
when  he  discovered,  as  time  went  by,  that  his  proph- 
ecies, even  in  this  respect,  did  not  turn  out  at  all  ac- 
cording to  his  expectations. 

It  is  true  that  the  new  wife  did  no  work  in  the 
kitchen  and  that  one  of  the  first  things  which  Alvah 
did  after  his  marriage  was  to  purchase  a  carriage 
for  her,  to  which  he  harnessed  a  pair  of  his  young 
ponies,  that  she  might  have  as  good  a  team  to  drive 
as  any  lady  in  the  county.  It  is  true  that  he  hired 
another  servant  and  seemed  to  be  always  bringing 
home  something  new  in  the  way  of  "  fancy  things," 
as  John  contemptuously  called  all  articles  of  house 
or  personal  adornment.  Notwithstanding  this,  how- 
ever, there  were  no  signs  that  Adams  was  approach- 
ing bankruptcy.  His  credit  was  still  as  good  as 
ever,  though  he  seldom  had  occasion  to  test  it,  and 
his  purse  was  long  enough  before  the  year  had  ex- 
pired to  take  in  and  add  to  his  quarter  section  an- 
other of  the  same  size  which  adjoined  it,  and  which 
the  owner  wished  to  sell  that  he  might  return  to  the 
East  and  take  possession  of  a  fortune  left  him  by  a 
relative.  Perhaps  his  success  may  have  been  partly 


**  WHERE  HAT)  HE  HEARD  THAT  TUNE  fw      81 

due  to  the  fact,  that  while  John  sat  in  his  house 
fuming  and  fretting  over  the  progress  of  his  neigh- 
bor, Alvah  was  up  betimes  directing  his  laborers, 
planning  to  save  in  his  methods  and  getting  every, 
thing  out  of  his  property  that  it  could  be  made  to 
produce. 

A  cold  wave  came  unexpectedly,  and  John  found 
six  of  his  calves  frozen  to  death  outside  of  the  cow- 
stable.  The  door  had  been  left  off  its  hinges  and 
the  little  animals  had  wandered  out  into  the  lighter 
atmosphere  when  the  gale  blew  down  the  bar.  Three 
promising  colts  were  caught  in  a  drenching  storm  be- 
cause he  had  not  ordered  his  men  to  drive  them  in 
upon  the  sure  signs  of  its  approach.  His  farming 
tools  rusted  in  the  outer  air,  as  have  those  of  many 
a  Western  farmer  since  the  first  plowshare  tore 
open  the  golden  heart  of  that  vast  territory.  He 
lived  from  hand  to  mouth,  always  a  little  in  arrears 
always  paying  the  ruinous  percentage  for  accommo- 
dation which  prevailed  then  in  his  section. 

And  while  John  was  doing  this,  Alvah  went  to  the 
opposite  extreme. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  taking  wheat  in  to  sell  now,** 
said  he  to  Garston  one  winter  morning,  as  he  met 
him  on  the  road  driving  a  pung-load  of  filled  bags 
toward  the  nearest  market.  "Why,  it's  gone  up  five 
cents  within  a  week,  and  it  will  be  twenty  cents 
higher  before  two  months.  Take  it  back,  man,  and 
put  it  back  into  your  bins  again.  It's  like  throw 
ing  it  away  to  sell  it  at  the  present  price." 

John  knew  as  well  as  Alvah,  that  in  all  probability 
grain  would  be  higher  soon,  but  he  had  a  reason 
strong  enough  to  keep  him  from  accepting  the  well 
meant  advice.  He  bad  a  note  coming  due  the 


22  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMY. 

day,  which  must  be  paid,  and  the  wheat  was  the 
only  available  thing  he  had  to  pay  it  with.  It 
angered  him  to  think  of  Alvah,  standing  there  with 
his  free  advice — a  man  with  plenty  of  cash  on  hand, 
and  granaries  bursting,  but  he  deemed  it  the  part  of 
wisdom  to  conceal  his  feelings.  So  he  muttered 
something  about  on-ly  taking  in  a  little  that  he  had 
promised  in  advance,  and  that  no  one  could  ever 
tell  for  certain  just  how  the  wheat  market  would  go, 
and  drove  on. 

That  evening  he  stopped  to  tell  Alvah,  with  mali- 
cious satisfaction,  that  when  he  got  to  the  market 
he  had  found  wheat  falling  in  price,  and  the  buyers 
predicting  that  it  would  be  down  to  sixty  cents  be- 
fore it  was  any  higher 

"  Let  it  fall,"  said  Alvah,  pleasantly.  "  It's  got  to 
rise  again,  as  sure  as  you  are  living.  These  men  can 
manipulate  the  price  all  they  like,  but  they  can't  go 
on  lowering  it  forever  I  shall  keep  mine  till  it's 
ninety  cents,  and  perhaps  a  dollar." 

"  One  farmer  can't  buck  these  big  combines,"  re- 
plied John.  "  They  might  make  us  keep  our  grain 
a  year." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  keep  mine  a  year." 

"  That  will  tie  up  a  good  deal  of  capital,"  said 
John,  warily.  He  wondered  how  long  Alvah  could 
stand  that  sort  of  thing. 

"  I  can  borrow,  if  necessary,"  said  the  other.  "  But 
I  have  an  idea  better  than  that,  and  if  this  conspir 
acy  against  us  goes  on  much  longer  I  shall  carry  it 
into  effect." 

John  did  not  like  to  ask  what  this  plan  was,  and 
he  did  not  think  from  the  tone  which  Adams  used, 
that  be  meant  to  reveal  the  secret,  so  be  only  said 


"  WHERE  HAD  HB  HEARD  THAT  TUKB  f"  23 

that  he  must  be  going,  and  started  his  horses  along 
the  road. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  exclaimed  Alvah,  as  he  saw  him 
disappearing.  "  I  fear  he  will  never  learn  to  manage 
his  affairs  on  business  principles." 

Alvah  sold  his  wheat  the  next  June  at  the  dollar 
he  had  set  as  his  limit,  but  he  had  been  doing  a  good 
deal  of  thinking  in  the  meantime.  He  did  not  like 
to  be  in  danger  of  having  to  take  the  price  which 
some  combination  might  designate.  There  was  a 
little  stream  which  ran  through  the  new  purchase 
which  he  had  made,  and  one  day  Garston  was 
astonished  to  see  men  at  work  building  a  dam,  and 
making  a  banking  around  a  natural  depression  as  if 
to  create  a  reservoir.  Curiosity  led  him  to  go  over 
and  see  what  was  being  done,  and  when  he  arrived 
Alvah  told  him  frankly  that  he  was  going  to  have  a 
grist-mill  there. 

"  We  have  been  going  on  long  enough,"  he  said, 
"  selling  our  wheat  and  bringing  our  flour  and  bran 
from  a  distance.  I  have  sent  for  the  necessary 
machinery  and  a  miller,  and  shall  be  grinding  wheat 
within  three  months.  When  the  farmers  can  get 
their  grain  ground  so  near  at  home  they  will  feel  less 
necessity  of  selling  it  to  those  Eastern  sharks  at  any 
price  they  choose  to  pay." 

Garston  could  not  help  his  face  showing  a  shade 
of  pale  green. 

"  You  are  doing  this  for  the  benefit  of  the  commu« 
nity,  of  course,"  said  he,  dryly.  "  Not  for  your  own 
advantage  at  all." 

"  By  no  means,"  laughed  Adams.  "  I  am  doing  it 
just  as  I  am  the  rest  of  my  business,  in  the  hope  to 
make  money.  But  it  will  benefit  the  neighborhood, 


fi  THE   GAKSTON  BIGAMY. 

for  all  that,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  it  I  wonder  no- 
body thought  of  it  before." 

"  Every  man  hasn't  got  a  stream  on  his  land," 
growled  John. 

"No,  that's  true.  It's  queer  how  things  turn  out. 
When  I  bought  this  quarter  section  of  Darling  we 
both  thought  this  brook  a  disadvantage,  as  it  took 
up  so  much  of  the  surface,  especially  in  the  spring, 
when  it  is  apt  to  run  over.  Now  it  seems  likely  to 
become  worth  more  than  I  gave  for  the  whole  farm. 
I  have  another  idea,  too.  I  am  going  to  run  some 
pipes  across  the  fields  and  irrigate  the  uplands  in 
dry  times.  There's  lots  of  things  I  can  do  with  that 
bit  of  water,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

John  went  home  and  gave  himself  up  to  his  sour 
reflections.  When  his  wife  came  to  call  him  to  din- 
ner he  refused  to  eat.  He  felt  that  luck  was  against 
him,  and  that  all  he  could  ever  do  to  combat  it  would 
never  place  him  on  terms  of  equality  with  Alvah 
Adams.  He  was  as  well  off  as  Smith,  Robinson,  and 
Jones,  to  the  south  of  him,  or  Parsons  and  Brown, 
to  the  west,  but  he  could  compare  nothing  except 
with  Alvah.  So  long  as  Alvah's  kine  waxed  fatter 
than  his  there  was  nothing  in  life  for  him. 

Nothing?  Yes,  there  was  Gerald.  Alvah  had  no 
boy,  as  yet,  though  that  would  probably  be  the  next 
thing.  The  farmer  came  out  of  his  retirement  at  the 
sound  of  his  baby  son  crying  in  the  arms  of  his 
mother.  For  no  music  was  to  him  like  that  cry.  No 
harp,  no  lute,  no  violin  in  the  hands  of  a  practiced 
player  could  have  given  such  pleasure  to  his  ears  as 
the  wail  of  the  little  fellow  who  bore  his  name,  and 
was  to  keep  alive  his  generation. 

He  saw  the  mill  builded  and  noted  that  the  line 


"  WHEKE  HAD  HE  HEARD  THAT  TUNE  f  25 

of  teams  which  came  to  it  with  grist  sometimes 
choked  the  narrow  road.  He  saw  a  second  set  of 
stones  arrive,  while  a  heavier  millwheel,  a  taller 
dam  and  a  greater  reservoir  succeeded  to  the  first. 
He  saw  the  foundations  of  a  mansion  laid  on  the 
rising  ground  above  the  little  cottage  to  which  Al- 
vah  had  taken  his  bride.  He  saw  the  stately  pro- 
portions rise,  till  the  cupola  and  the  bay-windows 
and  the  conservatory  looked  down  on  his  own  humble 
roof  as  if  in  derision  of  so  poor  a  neighbor.  People 
had  come  to  allude  to  Adams  as  a  prosperous  man. 

When  Gerald  was  four  years  old,  the  neighbors 
met  one  day,  Adams  riding  with  his  wife  and  young 
child.  Garston  shrank  at  the  contrast  which  their 
equipages  presented.  But  the  teams  had  hardly 
met  and  passed  when  he  looked  at  the  handsome 
boy  on  the  seat  beside  him  and  thought  of  the  baby 
girl  that  Mrs.  Adams  had  carried  in  her  lap. 

"  She  would  give  more  to  have  a  boy  like  that,' 
he  muttered,  "  than  for  all  he  will  make  out  of  his 
farm  and  mill  in  the  next  twelvemonth." 

He  had  a  strange  satisfaction  in  taking  the  little 
Gerald  by  the  hand  and  strolling  past  the  house  of 
Adams  at  some  time  of  day  when  he  would  be  likely 
to  meet  him.  As  open-hearted  as  John  was  the 
opposite,  Alvah  never  hesitated  to  express  his  regret 
that  no  son  had  made  his  ad  vent  in  his  iransion,  and 
he  always  praised  the  lad  with  which  his  neighbor 
had  been  blessed. 

"  A  splendid  boy  !"  he  used  to  say.  "  We  have  a 
dear  little  girl,  John,  that  we  love  with  all  our 
hear^j,  but  both  my  wife  and  myself  feel  it  strongly 
that  we  have  had  no  boy.  It  does  not  seem  right  to 
complain,  when  God  has  given  us  so  much  to  t* 


26  THE    GAESTON   BIGAMT. 

thankful  for,  but  if  we  only  had  a  son  we  could  ask 
for  nothing  more." 

Garston  always  walked  back  to  his  home  with  a 
lighter  heart  after  these  interviews.  There  was  one 
thing  in  which  his  possessions  exceeded  those  of 
Adams  !  As  time  went  by  and  no  other  child  glad- 
dened the  Adams  household,  John  grew  confident 
that  the  disparity  would  never  be  removed,  and 
this  reflection  kept  him  from  utter  despondency. 

When  Gerald  was  eight  years  of  age  and  Alma 
five  John  went  to  see  a  doctor  of  the  town,  who  was 
the  attendant  at  both  his  own  house  and  that  of  his 
neighbor.  Mrs.  Garston  had  been  ailing  for  some 
days,  and  he  asked  the  physician  to  call  and  see  her 
that  evening.  Then  something  turned  the  conver- 
sation towards  the  Adamses. 

"It's  a  pity  about  Mrs.  Adams,"  said  the  doctor, 
reflectively.  "  Alvah  would  give  anything  for  a  son, 
but  it  will  never  be.  She  will  never  have  another 
child.  There  are  reasons  which  make  it  impos- 
sible." 

And  he  went  off  into  a  learned  dissertation  on  the 
troubles  of  women,  never  doubting  that  John  would 
experience  the  same  sympathy  in  the  case  that  he 
himself  felt. 

Garston  went  out  into  the  air  and  found  that  he 
could  walk  more  erect.  Alvah  Adams  would  never 
be  the  father  of  a  boy  !  Whatever  happened,  his 
poorer  neighbor  would  always  have  this  advantage. 
He  knew  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  that  it  was  con- 
temptible to  let  this  sentiment  take  such  root  there, 
but  it  had  spread  itself  so  long  that  there  was  no 
way  to  kill  it  now.  Never  a  boy  in  the  Adams 
mansion  !  Never,  never,  never !  !  All  the  way 


"WHEBE  HAD  HE  HEABD  THAT  TUNE."  27 

,*ome  he  repeated  those  words  to  himself,  and  he 
could  not  get  the  music  of  them  out  of  his  mind. 
Never,  never,  never — a  boy  ! 

He  walked  into  his  house,  humming  a  tune,  of 
which  these  words  were  the  refrain,  but  a  servant 
came  toward  him,  with  her  finger  on  her  lips.  She 
pointed  toward  an  inner  room,  where  he  knew  his 
wife  lay,  and  he  realized  that  something  had  hap- 
pened. The  tune  stopped  as  suddenly  as  if  it  had 
been  broken  off  by  a  blow,  and  the  man  strode  has- 
tily into  the  apartment  beyond.  It  took  but  a  mo- 
ment for  him  to  realize  that  the  worst  had  happened 
in  his  absence. 

John  Garston  cared  for  this  wife,  though  he  had 
not  given  her  the  passionate  love  which  had  well 
nigh  swamped  his  barque  in  earlier  days.  He 
uttered  a  cry  of  grief  as  he  saw  her  lying  there,  pale 
and  still,  and  realized  that  she  had  spoken  to  him 
for  the  last  time  in  this  world.  Never,  never,  would 
fhe  speak  to  him  again. 

"  Never,  never,  never !  "  Where  had  he  heard 
that  tune  before  ? 

He  did  not  think  of  marrying  again,  but  lived 
alone  with  his  boy  till  the  latter  went  away  to 
college. 

After  Adams  had  become  accounted  a  rich  man, 
with  his  farm  and  mill,  the  war  of  the  Rebellion 
came.  Colonel  Staples,  who  was  interested  in  railroad 
building,  had  had  experience  in  the  militia,  and  ac- 
cepted a  commission  to  raise  a  regiment  for  service 
at  the  front.  The  first  man  who  wrote  his  name  on 
the  register  at  the  recruiting  office  was  Adams.  He 
had  not  consulted  his  wife  before  taking  this  step, 
and  she  had,  naturally,  many  tears  to  shed  when  he 


3i  THB  OAKSTOK  BIOAJCT. 

came  home  to  tell  her.  What  could  she  do  witti 
those  large  interests — she,  who  had  never  had  the 
least  care  of  anything  outside  her  own  household  ? 
But  when  he  had  talked  it  over  with  her,  she  admit- 
ted that  he  was  only  doing  his  duty,  and  afterwards 
developed  such  a  capacity  for  managing  affairs  that 
he  was  pleasurably  astonished. 

The  men  of  his  company  elected  him  second 
lieutenant,  and  afterwards  he  was  made  captain,  on 
account  of  gallantry  officially  commended  in  his 
colonel's  report.  He  remained  till  the  war  closed, 
taking  but  two  brief  furloughs  to  run  home  and  at- 
tend to  things  that  required  his  presence.  One  of 
the  earliest  recollections  of  Alma  was  being  awakened 
from  sleep  one  night  and  clasped  in  the  arms  of  a 
strange  figure  with  a  great  beard  and  brilliant  uni- 
form. She  was  inclined  to  cry,  for  the  assurance 
that  it  was  her  papa  conveyed  but  little  information 
to  her  infantile  mind,  but  she  was  given  his  belt  and 
sword  to  play  with,  and  soon  fell  asleep  again. 
Adams  used  often  to  say  that  he  did  not  believe 
he  had  a  dollar  less  than  if  he  had  shirked  his 
duty  and  stayed  at  home  from  the  struggle  of 
arms  ;  but,  he  used  to  add,  "  If  it  had  taken  all  I  had, 
compelling  me  to  go  further  west  and  start  life 
again  on  the  open  prairie,  I  would  have  enlisted  just 
the  same." 

He  asked  but  one  thing  of  his  soldiers  and  th« 
people  of  Jefferson  when  the  war  closed. 

"  Don't  call  me  '  Captain  '  any  more.  I  am  proud 
that  I  bore  the  title,  and  grateful  to  the  country  fof 
giving  it  to  me,  but  now  that  the  war  is  over,  call 
me  Alvah,  as  you  used  to.'* 


MttTNETTE   AHD   ELOKDS.  29 

And  when  they  found  that  he  really  meant  it,  this 
wish  was  law  to  his  friends  and  neighbors. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BRUNETTE  AND  BLONDE. 

f he  two  young  girls  that  Colonel  Staples  had 
pointed  out  to  Mr.  Grosschen  were  admitted  on  all 
sides  to  be  the  prettiest  in  the  village  of  Jefferson. 
The  wide  range  that  feminine  good  looks  can  take 
was  well  shown  in  the  totally  different  styles  of  beau- 
ty which  they  presented.  Alma  was  almost  en- 
titled to  be  called  a  brunette,  and  by  contrast  with 
Edith  she  might  have  been  taken  to  be  one.  Her 
hair  was  a  very  dark  brown.  Her  eyes  were  deep 
brown  also,  and  her  skin  of  a  shade  more  common  in 
the  South  than  in  the  descendant  of  the  New  Hamp- 
shire race.  As  often  happens,  Alma  was  even  more 
of  the  Spanish  type  than  her  mother,  following  the 
law  which  causes  heredity  to  take  leaps  and  bounds 
over  intervening  territory. 

She  was  one  of  the  most  perfect  girls  in  regard  to 
health  that  could  be  found,  and  had  never  known 
what  it  was  to  be  ill  since  the  days  of  her  babyhood. 
Now,  at  seventeen,  she  was  of  medium  height, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  round  with  the  fullness  of  a  per- 
fect development,  possessing  a  figure  like  that  of  a  not 
fully  ripened  Hebe.  It  would  have  delighted  the 
soul  of  a  sculptor  to  have  seen  the  manner  in  which 
she  carried  herself,  and  it  sent  a  thrill  through  the 


30  THE    GABSTON   BIGAMY. 

veins  of  many  a  man  who  had  no  claims  to  the 
sculptor's  talents  when  she  appeared  in  his  presence. 
Perfect  strangers,  who  had  met  her  on  her  way  to 
school,  had  paused  to  watch  till  she  was  out  of  sight, 
even  cnree  or  four  years  before  the  date  of  which  I 
am  writing.  They  had  asked  the  next  person  whom 
ihey  met  the  name  of  this  independent  little  beauty, 
wno  walked  as  if  she  owned  the  earth  and  felt  able 
to  maintain  her  possession.  And  they  had  gone  on 
with  feelings  that  seemed  unaccountable  toward  one 
so  young,  whom  it  would  be  folly  to  think  of 
otherwise  than  as  a  child  for  a  long  time  yet. 

The  girl  knew  that  she  was  considered  handsome, 
almost  as  soon  as  she  knew  anything.  It  could  not 
escape  her  ears  even  when  she  was  toddling  about 
the  parlor,  and  the  visitors  at  her  mother's  thought 
it  no  harm  to  voice  their  delight  at  her  infantile 
prettiness.  Being  the  only  child,  she  might  have 
been  spoiled  by  the  constant  petting  which  she  re- 
ceived, but  she  had  inherited  a  pride  of  another 
kind.  Having  acquired  an  idea  that  she  was  a 
person  entitled  to  consideration,  she  early  learned 
that  this  demanded  from  her  equal  consideration  to 
others. 

By  comparison  with  Alma,  Edith  Staples  would 
have  been  called  a  blonde,  though  she  was  not  of  that 
pronounced  type  which  the  Swedes  and  Germans 
lead  us  to  think  of  in  connection  with  that  expres- 
sion. Her  hair  was  light,  her  eyes  blue  and  her 
complexion  as  fair  as  if  the  sun  of  heaven  had  never 
touched  it  with  his  warm  rays.  This  was  not  due, 
however,  to  any  special  care  on  her  part,  for  she  was 
not  foolish  enough  to  make  a  god  of  her  beauty  or 
to  avoid  the  caresses  of  the  great  luminary.  On  th< 


BRUNETTE    AND   BLONDS.  31 

contrary,  she  had  a  habit  of  going  out  of  doors  in 
pleasant  weather  with  her  hat  hanging  by  its 
strings  to  her  arm,  and  a  parasol  she  cordially  de- 
tested. The  tan  simply  would  not  stay  on  her  face, 
and  nothing  varied  the  clear  paleness  of  her  features 
but  the  charming  waves  of  color  that  came  and 
went  at  the  least  provocation,  chasing  each  other  on 
and  off  like  so  many  crimson-tinted  shadows.  She 
was  slenderer  and  slightly  taller  than  her  friend, 
and  in  all  respects  cast  in  a  more  delicate  mould. 
Strangers  in  Jefferson  varied  in  their  opinions  -RS  to 
which  of  the  girls  was  lovelier,  but  the  villagers 
never  came  to  any  conclusion.  Each  was  perfect  in 
her  own  way  ;  and  as  neither  of  them  gave  *he 
slightest  encouragement  to  any  of  the  young  mei*  of 
the  place,  except  Gerald,  they  were  considered  as 
something  to  be  admired  from  a  respectful  distance. 

Gerald  Garston  had  known  Alma  all  her  life,  and 
Edith  from  her  sixth  birthday.  It  was  when  he 
piloted  little  Alma  to  the  primary  school,  himself 
already  elevated  to  the  dignity  of  a  grammar  scholar, 
that  he  first  saw  the  two  girls  together,  they  having 
made  each  other's  acquaintance  at  recess  and  formed 
an  instant  liking  which  time  had  only  sufficed  to 
cement  and  strengthen.  He  and  Alma  had  to  pass 
Colonel  Staples'  house  going  and  coming,  and  from 
the  very  first  the  trio  walked  that  distance  together, 
until  they  became  familiar  figures  to  everybody 
who  lived  along  the  highway.  John  Garston  did 
not  particularly  like  it  to  have  his  boy  so  "  thick  " 
with  Alvah  Adams'  girl,  but  there  was  no  way  in 
which  he  could  prevent  it  without  seeming  more  u<a- 
neighborly  than  he  then  desired  to  appear. 

Year  after  year,  till  Gerald  passed  through  th« 


a  THIS    OARSTOTT  BXOAXT. 

grades  of  all  the  schools  that  Jefferson  could  afford 
and  had  reached  his  seventeenth  birthday,  he  came 
and  went  with  the  two  girls,  almost  without  varia- 
tion. He  was  a  manly  little  fellow,  and  while  an 
occasional  schoolmate  would  try  to  get  up  a  laugh 
On  him  because  he  had  these  feminine  companions, 
the  majority  of  the  boys  stood  by  Gerald  and  re- 
fused to  consider  it  anything  amusing.  When  he 
was  only  ten  years  old  a  particularly  obnoxious 
youth  took  to  calling  names  after  him,  as  he  started 
off  with  the  children,  designed  to  irritate  both  his 
feelings  and  theirs.  After  bearing  it  for  several 
days  without  replying,  Gerald  suddenly  left  his 
charges  one  evening  and  proceeded  to  administer 
the  severest  kind  of  correction  to  the  cause  of  the 
trouble.  He  had  the  young  fellow  down  in  the  dirt 
of  the  road  and  had  made  his  countenance  assume  a 
most  unwonted  appearance  before  the  girls  knew 
what  he  was  about.  Neither  of  them  had  ever  seen 
him  in  a  temper  before,  and  at  first  both  were  much 
frightened.  The  whipped  lad  was  bawling  lustily, 
and  Gerald's  blows  showed  no  signs  of  being  any- 
where near  their  end.  Edith's  disposition  was  to 
run,  and  she  started  to  do  so,  but  Alma  went  to 
where  the  punishment  was  in  progress  and  laid  her 
band  on  Gerald's  shoulder. 

Then  the  boy  seemed  to  realize  for  the  first  time 
what  he  had  been  doing.  At  Alma's  touch  he  rose 
•nd  took  a  step  away  from  the  prostrate  figure. 

"Do  you  think  you  will  call  names  after  me 
again  ?"  he  demanded. 

A  smothered  negative  came  from  the  bruised 
mouth. 


BETTNETTE   AOT  BLOOTJ1.  83 

"If  you  ever  do,"  said  Gerald, "  I  will  kill  you  the 

mext  time." 

He  went  back  with  Alma  to  where  Edith,  pale 
and  trembling,  awaited  them. 

"  How  could  you  !"  she  cried,  when  they  had  re- 
sumed their  way.  "  I  never  was  so  frightened." 

"What  frightened  you?"  he  asked,  a  little 
alarmed. 

"  I  was  afraid  he  would  hurt  you." 

Gerald  looked  back  contemptuously,  disdaining  to 
consider  that  suggestion. 

"  I  didn't  think  he  could  hurt  you"  said  Alma, 
"  but  I  was  afraid  you  would  hurt  him  more  than 
you  meant  to.  He  was  very  aggravating,  though." 

"It  is  terrible  to  fight,"  said  Edith,  with  a  shud- 
der. 

Gerald  was  already  ashamed  of  the  degree  of  tem- 
per which  he  had  exhibited,  and  not  inclined  to  say 
a  great  deal  in  his  own  defense. 

"  It  is  terrible  to  be  called  names,  too,"  put  in 
Alma.  "  I  almost  felt  as  if  I  could  whip  him  myself 
for  what  he  said  to  Gerald.  If  1  had  seen  that  Har- 
vey was  able  to  hurt  him,  I  should  have  gone  to 
help." 

Thus  the  girls  discussed  the  occurrence  until  they 
reached  Edith's  gate,  when  Gerald  said  : 

"Don't  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it,  Edie.  I 
want  to  forget  it.** 

She  readily  consented  and  the  boy  declined  an  in- 
vitation to  come  in,  not  thinking  that  he  presented 
exactly  the  appearance  that  fitted  him  for  any  one's 
parlor.  He  walked  on  silently  with  Alma  till  they 
reached  her  house. 

**  I  think  I  ought  to  thank  you,"  she  said  to  him, 


34  THE    GARSTON   BIGLUCT. 

thoughtfully.  "  What  Harvey  said  was  meant  te 
insult  us  girls  as  much  as  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it,  Alma,"  he  repeat- 
ed. "  I  want  to  forget  it  just  as  soon  as  I  can." 

That  night  some  one  told  John  Garston  that  his 
boy  had  been  fighting  with  Harvey  Holmes.  He 
learned  substantially  the  true  particulars  of  the  mat- 
ter, which  convinced  him  that  his  son  had  merely 
resented  an  insult  in  a  somewhat  savage  manner. 
Not  at  all  displeased  with  the  occurrence,  so  long 
as  his  boy  had  proved  a  victor,  he  concluded  not  to 
let  the  lad  know  that  he  had  heard  anything  about 
it.  Some  of  the  village  lads  complimented  Gerald 
the  next  day  on  his  prowess,  and  several  men  in  the 
town  gave  utterance  to  similar  words  of  praise 
but  the  only  effect  was  one  of  annoyance.  Gerala 
was  glad  when  the  thing  died  out  of  memory,  and 
though  he  carefully  avoided  Harvey  after  that,  he 
took  no  pride  in  the  victory  he  had  won  over  him. 

It  was  natural  that  Gerald  saw  rather  more  of 
Alma  than  he  did  of  Edith,  as  she  was  the  nearest 
neighbor  that  he  had.  He  knew  in  an  indefinite 
way  that  there  was  something  of  ill-feeling  on  the 
part  of  his  father  toward  hers,  but  it  did  not  inter- 
fere with  his  friendship  for  the  little  girl,  whom  he 
regarded  in  a  sort  of  paternal  fashion,  being,  when 
he  first  began  to  escort  her  to  school,  so  much  the 
elder.  He  was  always  welcomed  cordially  at  the 
Adams  mansion,  both  of  Alma's  parents  seeming  to 
entertain  a  great  fondness  for  him  and  encouraging 
his  visits  in  every  possible  way.  Colonel  Staples 
also  gave  him  invitations  to  come  to  his  house,  con- 
sidering him  the  sort  of  boy  that  one  could  encour- 


BBTTNETTE   AND   BLONDE.  3$ 

age,  even  when  one  had  a  young  daughter  who  was 
the  apple  of  his  eye. 

While  Gerald  was  not  less  fond  of  boyish  sports 
than  others  of  his  age,  or  took  a  less  prominent 
part  in  the  games  of  his  own  sex,  he  found  plenty  of 
time  to  be  with  Alma  and  Edith.  His  father  had 
no  notion  of  asking  him  to  assist  about  the  farm. 
He  had  early  concluded  that  the  boy  should  adopt 
some  other  means  of  getting  a  livelihood,  more  in 
accordance  with  what  is  usually  called  the  life  of  a 
gentleman.  The  boy's  studies  came  easy  to  him, 
and  the  rest  of  his  time  w?.s  practically  at  his  own 
disposal.  The  girls  were  nearly  always  together, 
either  at  one  house  or  the  other,  and  few  days 
passed,  either  in  school  or  vacation  time,  that  Ger- 
ald did  not  see  a  good  deal  of  them. 

Edith  was  of  a  much  more  sensitive  and  shrinking 
disposition  than  her  girl  friend.  Alma  hardly  knew 
the  feeling  of  fear,  while  it  required  very  little  to  set 
the  nerves  of  Edith  into  a  tremor.  Alma  was  ven- 
turesome, Edith  retiring.  If  the  trio  were  out  in  the 
wood,  and  came  to  a  small  stream  which  they  wanted 
to  cross,  Alma  would  boldly  walk  the  narrow  log 
that  spanned  it,  or  spring  lightly  from  one  of  the 
stepping-stones  to  the  other.  Edith,  on  the  contrary, 
would  seek  up  and  down  its  banks  for  some  more 
favorable  crossing,  rejecting  for  a  long  time  the  offer 
of  Gerald  to  carry  her  over,  accepting  it  at  last  only 
when  no  other  way  presented  itself,  and  then  with 
many  doubts  of  the  result.  When  they  were  safely 
on  the  opposite  side,  she  would  laugh  at  her  foolish, 
ness,  declaring  that  she  would  never  be  afraid  again  ; 
and  the  next  time  she  would  go  through  identically 
the  same  fright  and  hesitation. 


86  THE    GAKSTON   BIGAMY. 

Once  a  snake  came  across  their  path — an  ;noffen- 
tive  thing — and  Edith  fainted.  Gerald  was  so  much 
startled  at  this  that  he  allowed  the  creature  to  get 
away,  though  he  had  grasped  a  piece  of  wood  with 
the  intention  of  destroying  it.  When  he  saw  the 
limp  body  of  Edith  sink  upon  the  sward  he  was  more 
alarmed  even  than  Alma,  who  ran  to  the  nearest 
water  and  brought  her  straw  hat  full  to  throw  into 
the  face  of  the  unconscious  one.  When  Edith  recov- 
ered her  senses  she  begged  to  be  taken  home,  and 
Gerald  took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  for  a 
long  distance.  Alma  lamented  that  the  snake  had 
not  been  killed,  as  she  wanted  to  show  it  to  her 
father,  but  Edith  declared  that  she  should  die  at  the 
mere  sight  of  it.  And  it  was  some  months  before 
She  could  be  induced  to  go  again  into  the  forest  or 
pastures,  where  such  things  are  likely  to  be. 

Girls  of  entirely  different  natures  often  make  the 
strongest  of  friends,  and  Alma  never  thought  of 
chiding  Edith  for  what  seemed  to  her  silliness,  ex- 
cept  in  the  most  gentle  way.  Gerald  saw  the  differ- 
ence in  their  natures,  and  treated  them  accordingly. 
He  liked  one,  as  far  as  he  ever  thought  about  it,  just 
as  well  as  he  did  the  other.  Both  of  them  liked  him, 
and  when  absent  he  often  furnished  the  subject  for 
their  conversations.  When  he  graduated  at  the 
High  School  and  went  away  to  college  both  of  them 
found  for  the  first  time  how  great  a  place  he  had  oc- 
cupied in  their  lives. 

They  were  only  fourteen  then,  and  neither  had 
ever  dreamed  of  what  is  called  *;love."  Gerald  was 
the  dearest  friend  that  either  of  them  had,  outside 
of  their  own  families,  and  they  missed  him  severely. 
It  was  a  happy  day  when  each  ran  to  tell  the  other 


BBUJURTE  AWD  BLOVDB.  87 

that  she  had  received  the  first  letter  from  him,  for 

he  had  written  to  both  by  exactly  the  same  mail,  on 
the  second  day  after  his  arrival  at  the  university. 
They  met  about  half  way  between  their  residences, 
out  of  breath  and  with  smiles  irradiating  their  faces. 

"I've  got  a  letter !"  cried  Alma,  holding  np  the 
envelope  in  evidence. 

"So'vel!" 

"  But  mine's  from  Ge — * 

"So'smine!" 

Plumping  themselves  down  under  the  nearest 
shade  tree  the  girls  read  their  epistles  aloud  to  each 
other,  hardly  able  to  wait  in  their  eagerness  till  the 
words  could  be  enunciated.  There  could  be  no  se- 
crets between  them,  least  of  all  over  this  matter,  in 
which  they  had  a  common  joy. 

He  told  of  his  room  and  his  room-mate — a  young 
man  named  Clifford  Nelson — of  what  they  had  given 
him  for  breakfast,  dinner  and  supper  at  the  "  Com- 
mons," of  the  personal  appearance  of  the  various 
professors  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  He  said 
that  he  missed  the  faces  at  Jefferson,  of  his  father, 
of  the  villagers,  and,  not  least  of  all,  of  the  little 
friends  whom  he  had  known  so  long  and  intimately. 
Sentences  beginning,  "You  can  tell  Edith  when  you 
meet  her,"  and  "  Don't  forget  to  say  to  Alma  from 
me,"  abounded. 

Having  read  and  reread  the  epistles  and  commen- 
ted upon  them  to  their  hearts'  content,  the  girls  sep- 
arated, to  go  to  their  own  rooms  and  indite  speedy 
answers,  quite  as  fit  to  be  read  to  all  the  world  as  the 
ones  he  had  sent  to  them. 

Colonel  Staples  smiled  when  Edith  came  into  the 
parlor  to  read  Gerald's  letter  to  him,  and  said  he  was 


88  THE    GARSTON1   BIGAMY. 

glad  that  the  boy  was  so  pleasantly  situated.  Mr. 
Adams  made  a  similar  observation  when  Alma  hand- 
ed him  what  Gerald  had  sent  to  her,  for  his  perusal. 
They  thought  to  themselves  that  nothing  could  be 
better  for  a  young  man  in  college  than  the  true 
friendship  of  such  girls,  who  had  been  sisters  to  him 
for  so  long.  The  mothers  were  equally  well  satisfied 
and  encouraged  a  continuation  of  the  correspond- 
ence. They  liked  Gerald  and  approved  of  him  in 
every  way.  It  would  encourage  a  taste  for  writing 
in  their  daughters,  and  so  be  of  benefit  to  all  con- 
cerned. 

Gerald  told  his  father,  in  a  letter  sent  in  the  same 
mail  with  these,  that  he  had  written  to  the  girls,  and 
John  Garston  pondered  over  the  matter  a  good  while, 
uncertain  what  to  do.  He  had  rather  not  have  had 
it  so,  and  yet  he  could  give  no  reason  even  to  his 
own  mind  for  this  feeling.  The  result  of  his  delib- 
erations was  that  he  would  say  nothing  about  it. 
He  realized  that  it  might  be  something  like  making 
a  mountain  out  of  a  molehill  to  forbid  his  son  to  con- 
tinue the  letters.  He  believed  that  the  new  connec- 
tions Gerald  would  make  at  the  university  would  be 
likely  to  crowd  these  infantile  attachments  to  one 
side  in  short  order — that  they  would,  in  fact,  take 
care  of  themselves,  if  left  alone.  He  was  gratified, 
as  he  frequently  had  had  occasion  to  be,  with  the  in- 
genuousness which  made  Gerald  confide  everything 
to  him,  and  he  feared  to  inaugurate  a  policy  which 
might  make  him  liable  to  resort  to  double  dealing. 

It  was  not  easy  for  Mr.  Garston  to  spare  the  mon- 
ey necessary  to  give  his  son  this  higher  education, 
but  if  it  had  taken  his  last  penny,  if  it  had  compelled 
him  to  live  on  bread  and  water  to  accomplish  it,  he 


BRUNETTE    AND   BLONDE.  39 

was  determined  that  Gerald  should  be  "a  gentle- 
man." All  the  pride  he  had  went  into  this  account. 
The  ill  luck  that  he  expected,  that  he  almost  courted, 
seemed  to  follow  all  of  his  farming  operations.  He 
had  poorer  crops  than  his  fellow-towi.smen,  though 
his  land  was  naturally  as  good  as  any.  He  always 
sold  his  grain  at  the  minimum  price,  and  paid  ruin- 
ous interest  on  notes.  He  had  no  hope  of  ever  get- 
ting himself  free  from  these  obligations,  but  if  Ger- 
ald could  be  made  "a  gentleman,"  could  be  raised 
above  the  heads  of  the  Adamses  by  education  and 
profession,  that  would  compensate  for  all  the  rest. 

He  had  never  intimated  to  his  son  that  money  was 
so  scarce  with  him.  The  boy  had  not  the  least  idea 
that  the  sum  needed  to  pay  the  first  quarter  of  his 
college  expenses  was  borrowed  of  a  Shylock,  by  a 
mortgage  on  what  live-stock  and  machinery  was  al- 
ready exempt  from  similar  process,  on  which  interest 
was  to  be  paid  at  the  rate  of  four  per  cent,  a  month. 
He  went  into  college  with  all  the  bright  hopes  of 
youth,  provided  with  a  sufficiency  of  pocket  money 
for  his  needs,  and  with  only  one  instruction  from  his 
father,  to  live  as  well  as  the  rest. 

The  first  time  he  came  home,  to  spend  the  short 
Christmas  vacation,  it  was  hard  to  tell  which  of  the 
three  families  laid  the  most  claim  to  him.  He  had 
to  accept  invitations  to  dinner  at  both  the  Adams 
and  Staples  households,  and  at  each  of  them  Alma 
and  Edith  were  included  in  the  list  of  those  who  sat 
around  the  board.  John  Garston  was  invited  also, 
but  as  the  requests  for  his  presence  came  together,  he 
felt  obliged  to  refuse  both  of  them.  He  would  have 
liked  well  enough  to  dine  with  Colonel  Staples' fam- 
ily, but  he  had  no  idea  ©f  stepping  inside  the  stately 


40  THE    G  AKSTON   BIGAMT. 

home  of  Alvah  Adams.  He  could  not  go  to  one  and 
decline  the  other  without  attracting  unpleasant  no- 
tice, and  so  he  made  an  excuse  to  both  of  lack  of 
jme,  and  previous  engagements. 

Gerald  was  pumped  dry  for  accounts  of  his  life  in 
college,  though  he  declared  that  he  had  told  every- 
thing in  his  frequent  letters  to  Edith  and  Alma. 
His  room-mate,  Clifford  Nelson,  figured  in  all  his  ex- 
periences, and  was  described  as  such  a  likeable  chap 
that  Colonel  Staples  and  Mr.  Adams  both  gave  him 
a  cordial  invitation  to  bring  his  friend  with  him  the 
next  time  he  came.  This  reminded  him  that  he 
had  a  photograph  of  Clifford  in  his  .pocket,  which 
he  produced  and  passed  around  the  table.  The 
girls  were  agreed  in  praise  of  his  appearance  and 
hoped  they  should  soon  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
him. 

"  He's  awful  nice,"  said  Gerald,  "  and  I  shall  be 
glad  to  bring  him,  if  he  will  come.  I  should  think 
he  might,  in  the  summer.  His  folks  live  in  Buffalo, 
and  they  are  immensely  rich." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    GIRL   WITH   THE   ANKLES. 

When  the  summer  vacation  arrived  Gerald  did 
not  come  home  immediately  from  college.  He  went 
with  young  Nelson  to  the  country  place  of  the 
latter's  family,  on  the  borders  of  Lake  Erie.  Both 
the  father  and  mother  of  Clifford  were  dead,  and 


THB  GIEL  WITH   THB  AKKLB8.  4] 

the  establishments  which  had  belonged  to  them 
and  were  now  coming  to  him,  were  presided  over 
by  a  maiden  aunt  for  the  present.  But  it  was  not 
long  before  the  collegians  reached  Jefferson,  where 
Nelson  was  speedily  introduced  to  the  young  girls 
of  whom  he  had  heard  his  friend  speak,  and  about 
whom  he  had  formed  so  many  speculative  opinions. 
Knowing  that  they  were  still  under  sixteen,  it  had 
seemed  to  Clifford  very  odd  that  Gerald  should 
find  it  worth  his  while  to  devote  so  many  hours  in 
the  month  in  writing  to  them.  Before  he  had  been 
in  Jefferson  a  week,  however,  he  learned  to  take  an 
entirely  different  view.  He  admitted  to  himself 
that  these  girls  were  not  at  all  like  the  ordinary 
chits  of  their  age,  and  that  he  had  never  seen  two 
such  charming  creatures  as  they  turned  out  to  be. 

Clifford  was  not  long  in  deciding  that  it  was  Edith 
who  interested  him  most,  but  try  as  he  might  he 
could  not  discover  that  there  was  any  difference  be- 
tween them  in  Gerald's  favor.  If  he  walked  with 
one  of  them  to-day,  in  the  excursions  about  the 
town  and  vicinity  that  the  entire  party  began  to 
make,  the  other  one  was  his  closest  companion  to- 
morrow. Stranger  if  possible  than  this  was  the  fact 
that  neither  of  the  girls  evinced  any  preference  to 
be  by  Gerald's  side,  so  long  as  he  made  one  of  the 
quartette.  They  used  Clifford  with  great  considera- 
tion, but  he  was  wise  enough  to  comprehend  that 
this  was  on  account  of  his  position.  He  was  Ger- 
ald's friend,  and  that  entitled  him  to  their  regard. 

He  could  not  help  wishing  that  one  of  them,  at 
least,  would  care  a  little  more  for  him  on  his  own 
account,  but  perhaps  that  would  come  later,  if  he 
was  circumspect  and  bided  his  time.  Though  only 


42  THB   GARSTON   BIGAMT. 

eighteen,  he  had  a  sentimental  side,  and  Edith  had 
made  a  strong  impression  upon  him.  He  liked 
Alma  too,  very  much  indeed,  and  she  treated  him 
with  a  frankness  which  pleased  him.  He  believed 
Edith  grew  the  least  bit  more  reserved  in  his  pres- 
ence, but  it  might  have  been  due  to  her  instinctive 
knowledge  that  he  had  her  most  in  his  thoughts. 

He  did  not  wonder  that  Gerald  liked  both  of 
these  girls,  but  he  was  surprised  when  he  insisted 
that  he  could  discern  absolutely  no  difference  in  the 
state  of  his  feelings  toward  them. 

"  Now,  come,"  Clifford  said  to  him  one  day, 
"  there  must  be  a  difference — perhaps  a  very  slight 
one,  but  still  enough  for  you  to  tell  which  you  like 
best." 

"  There  isn't,"  said  Gerald,  with  apparent  honesty. 
"  I  have  known  them  from  babyhood  and  they  are 
exactly  alike  to  me.  But  aren't  they  nice,  though? 
I  wouldn't  bring  every  fellow  I  know  here  and  in- 
troduce them  to  him." 

The  four  were  together  almost  constantly  during 
what  was  left  of  the  vacation.  They  took  rides  into 
the  country,  went  for  pond  lilies  in  the  wooded  lake 
that  Mr.  Adams  owned,  about  a  mile  from  his  resi- 
dence, strolled  among  the  ravines  and  sat  chatting 
or  singing  on  the  verandas  of  the  Staples  or  Adams 
mansions,  indiscriminately,  for  hours. 

When  the  young  men  were  back  in  college,  Clif- 
ford plucked  up  courage  to  write  to  Edith.  He 
said  nothing  to  Gerald  of  his  intention,  and  there 
was  nothing  in  the  letter  except  references  to  the 
delightful  time  he  had  had  in  Jefferson,  and  his 
hope  to  come  there  again  when  another  summer 
should  arrive.  Time  passed  and  no  answer  came, 


THE   CURL   WITH    THE    ANKLES.  43 

»ill  one  evening,  Gerald  looked  up  from  a  letter  he 
was  perusing  to  say  that  Edith  sent  word  that  she 
had  received  his  friend's  note,  and  wished  him  to 
thank  him  for  his  trouble.  This  convinced  Clifford 
anew  that  he  was  on  a  very  different  footing  in  that 
young  lady's  mind  from  Gerald,  and  that  if  he  was 
ever  to  improve  it  he  must  do  so  in  some  other  way 
than  by  beginning  an  unsolicited  correspondence. 

Just  for  amusement,  and  to  make  a  test,  he 
thought  he  would  try  the  effect  of  a  letter  on  Alma. 
The  result  was  no  more  flattering  to  his  vanity.  All 
he  received  was  a  request  to  Gerald  similar  to  that 
contained  in  the  note  from  Edith. 

With  vacation  time  he  was  again  in  Jefferson,  and 
now  he  determined  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  to 
make  an  impression  upon  Miss  Edith.  He  found 
her  taller  and  lovelier  than  ever  and  quite  as  cordial 
to  him  as  she  had  been  the  previous  year.  There 
was  an  indefinable  feeling,  however,  which  he  could 
not  help,  that  he  constituted  a  sort  of  fifth  wheel  to 
the  coach,  and  that  the  girls  would  have  been  much 
better  satisfied  to  have  had  Gerald  to  themselves. 
He  intimated  as  much  to  Gerald  one  day  when  they 
were  alone,  but  his  friend  laughed  at  what  he 
called  his  nonsense,  and  said  four  in  a  party  made 
it  much  nicer  for  all  concerned. 

"They  like  you — both  of  them,"  he  added,  "I 
know  they  think  it  very  pleasant  to  have  you  here. 
You  must  not  be  so  notional,  Cliff." 

"  Did  Miss — did  either  of  them — say  anything 
about  me  ?" 

"  They  don't  say  special  things,"  said  Gerald.  "  It 
isn't  their  style.  They  never,  for  instance,  have  said 


44  TBB  GAJWTON  BIOAXT. 

they  like  to  have  me  here,  but  I  think  they  do,  just 
the  same." 

" Oh, you!"  exclaimed  Nelson.  "Of  course,  they 
want  you.  It  wouldn't  take  a  telescope  to  see  that." 

"And  they  want  you,  too,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 
"Don't  get  any  idea  in  your  head  that  they  don't." 

About  every  day  the  young  men  were  invited  to 
dinner  or  supper  at  one  of  the  girls'  houses,  and 
generally  they  accepted.  The  parents  on  both  sides 
learned  to  like  Nelson  very  much,  and  everything 
was  done  to  make  him  enjoy  his  stay.  He  tried  to 
cultivate  Colonel  Staples  especially,  with  a  view  to 
the  future,  for  he  really  got  serious  sometimes  in  his 
thoughts  about  Edith.  His  father  had  been  con- 
nected with  the  railroad  interest,  and  it  turned  out 
that  the  Colonel  had  met  him  somewhere  in  other 
days.  All  this  was  very  well,  but  it  did  not  prevent 
him  feeling  a  twinge  as  he  saw  the  free  and  easy 
manners  of  Gerald  and  the  bright  light  that  came 
into  Edith's  blue  eyes  as  she  listened  to  the  most 
ordinary  thing  he  happened  to  say. 

The  summer  passed  away,  and  Clifford's  position 
was  very  little,  if  any,  improved.  He  did  not 
wish  to  make  what  is  called  "  love "  to  Edith, 
but  he  could  not  see  why  she  should  prefer  to 
share  in  her  small  part  of  Gerald  to  accept- 
ing the  entire  attention  of  another,  which  she 
knew  well,  he  was  convinced,  that  he  would 
be  only  too  glad  to  give  her.  When  he  was 
back  at  college  again  he  noticed  that  letters  in  the 
nanawnting  of  both  girls  came  more  frequently,  if 
anything,  than  before.  There  could  be  nothing 
secret  in  them,  or  Gerald  would  not  have  left  them, 
AS  he  did,  unlocked  in  his  drawer,  where  his  room- 


THE  GIRL  WITH  THB    U7K2JML  45 

mate  could  have  perused  them  at  his  leisure  had  he 
been  so  disposed.  Clifford  had  no  sister,  and  up  to 
the  time  he  had  met  Edith  Staples  he  had  thought 
anything  in  the  nature  of  close  friendship  with 
one  of  the  fair  sex  about  the  last  thing  he  should 
be  likely  to  desire.  Now  his  feelings  bordered  on 
the  envious. 

Gerald  had  taken  a  great  fancy  of  late  to  photo- 
graphs and  engravings,  such  as  adorn  the  rooms  of 
many  other  collegians,  showing  lovely  woman  in  her 
most  bewitching  dress  and  undress,  and  the  walls  of 
the  apartment  that  they  occupied  in  common  was 
now  half  covered  with  these  products  of  the  camera 
and  the  engraver's  tool.  Clifford  used  to  laugh  at 
the  enthusiasm  with  which  he  would  unveil  each  new 
beauty,  declaring  it  superior  to  any  of  its  predeces- 
sors, falling  into  raptures  over  an  arm,  a  shoulder  or 
a  bust.  But  he  regarded  it  as  a  mere  ebullition  on 
Gerald's  part,  and  something  that  might  as  well  be 
allowed  to  run  its  course.  Clifford  had  very  correct 
ideas  on  most  matters,  and  would  have  talked  seri- 
ously to  his  friend  had  he  discovered  anything  which 
he  supposed  had  a  really  "  bad  "  tendency,  but  these 
pictures  were  too  silly  to  treat  as  if  they  were  things 
of  importance. 

"  I  have  bought  the  most  beautiful  photograph 
this  afternoon,"  Gerald  would  say  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  door.  "You  cannot  imagine  how  lovely 
it  is  !  " 

Then,  as  he  proceeded  to  take  off  the  wrapper, 
Clifford  would  respond,  coolly  : 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  can  tell  you  all  about  it.  It 
is  Mile.  Quelque  Chose  of  the  Varieties.  She  is 
dressed  ridiculously  low  in  the  neck  and  her  gowa 


46  THE   GAKSTON   BIOAJTT. 

is  looped  outrageously  high  on  the  side.  I  have  seen 
its  counterpart  a  hundred  times,  and  they  are  all  as 
near  alike  as  two  peas  in  a  pod." 

"You  have  never  seen  this  one,"  Gerald  would 
answer,  his  face  aglow.  "  Look  !  Was  there  ever 
such  beauty  ?  Is  it  not  superb  ?  I  did  not  think 
such  arms  could  grow  on  a  mortal  creature  !  What 
perfection  of  outline  !  What  grace  of  pose  !  You 
must  be  stone  not  to  admire  that  magnificent  figure  ! 
I  believe  you  are  pretending  a  lack  of  interest,  just 
to  exasperate  me." 

"I  don't  see  anything  to  get  interested  in,"  would 
be  the  response.  "  I  call  it  the  picture  of  a  bold 
woman  who  might  have  been  a  laundress  a  month 
before  some  one  decked  her  in  that  finery.  There 
are  just  as  good  arms,  I  would  be  willing  to  wager, 
among  the  washerwomen  who  do  up  the  college 
linen.  Your  perfection  of  outline  is  all  in  your 
vivid  imagination.  You  don't  mean  seriously  to 
think  of  placing  that  execrable  thing  on  the  walls 
of  our  room  ?  Why,  it  would  give  me  the  nightmare. 
Toss  it  into  the  rubbish,  like  a  good  fellow." 

Then  Gerald  would  assume  an  air  of  injury,  and, 
placing  the  photograph  in  a  good  light,  would  sit 
down  before  it  and  rail  upon  the  flinty  heart  that 
could  address  such  remarks  to  its  beautiful  face. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mile.  Quelque  Chose,  if  that  is  your 
divine  name,  for  bringing  you  into  the  presence  of 
this  unappreciative  Philistine.  Fix  your  clear  and 
sparkling  eyes  upon  your  admirer,  who  would  give 
all  he  possesses  for  one  glance  of  love  from  them. 
Lift  those  unapproachable  arms  and  twine  them  but 
for  one  instant  about  the  neck  of  him  who  will  ever 
afterward  be  your  slave.  Open  those  cherry  lips  and 


THE   GIRL   WITH   THE    ANKLES.  4:7 

own  that  you  have  for  me  a  little  of  that  devotion 
that  I  bring  to  you.  You  do  not  speak  !  Methinks 
at  the  sound  of  my  voice  you  turn  your  lovely  orbs 
away.  Your  arms,  worthy  of  a  Diana  or  a  Hebe,  lie 
motionless  at  your  side.  Is  it  on  account  of  this 
iconoclastic  wretch  that  you  treat  me  with  such  cruel 
disdain  ?  Say  but  a  word  and  I  will  cast  him  hence, 
that  we  may  live  devoted  to  each  other  forever !  " 

As  often  as  this  was  repeated,  varying  only  in 
form  with  each  new  picture  that  took  the  attention 
of  the  young  man,  Clifford  could  never  help  laugh- 
ing at  the  ludicrousness  of  it. 

"  Tell  her,  while  you  are  about  it,"  he  would  say, 
"  that  you  were  quite  as  enthusiastic  over  the 
charms  of  Mile.  Ceci  and  Mile.  Cela,  whose  counter- 
feit presentments  still  adorn  your  walls  ;  that  you 
pledged  to  each  of  them,  representing  not  less  than 
three  or  four  hundred  individuals,  the  same  ever- 
lasting love  and  faithfulness  that  you  now  offer  to 
her.  Tell  her  that  to-morrow,  at  precisely  this 
hour,  you  will  bring  home  the  likeness  of  some 
other  peasant  girl  who  has  exchanged  a  doubtful 
quality  of  virtue  for  a  place  on  the  Parisian  stage, 
and  rave  over  it  with  equal  fervor.  Oh,  Gerald,  I 
am  getting  ashamed  of  you  !" 

Then  Gerald  would  laugh  with  him,  but  would 
protest,  for  all  that,  that  the  picture  was  a  beauty, 
and  that  if  he  were  not  as  blind  as  a  bat  and  as  cal- 
lous as  a  block  of  marble,  he  would  know  it.  Three 
days  later  he  would  bring  home  another,  declaring 
that  this  was  more  lovely  than  any  that  had  pre- 
ceded it,  and  the  farce  would  be  re-enacted  with  little 
variation. 

"  Is  there  anything  in  this  shop  that  you  do  a<J- 


mire?"  he  asked  Clifford  once,  as  they  stood  to- 
gether in  the  art  store  of  the  college  town. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Nelson,  "  there  are  several  things. 
These  views  of  the  Acropolis,  this  one  of  the  Colos- 
seum, this  of  the — " 

"  Oh,  bah  !"  broke  in  Gerald.  "  I  mean  of  things 
feminine.  What  are  those  horrid  old  ruins  good 
for  ?  A  man  of  sense  should  be  above  that  sort  of 
thing.  What  I  want  is  for  you  to  tell  me  candidly 
whether  there  is  one  of  these  photographs  or  engrav- 
ings designed  to  portray  female  beauty  that  you 
would  think  worth  purchasing." 

Nelson  turned  to  the  engravings  and  looked  them 
ever  for  several  minutes. 

**  Yes,"  he  said,  finally., 

"Which  ones?" 

"These." 

He  indicated  two  female  figures,  one  a  complete 
nude  and  the  other  stripped  to  the  waist. 

"  Impossible  '"  cried  Gerald.  "  You  are  too  much 
of  a  prude.  Why  don  t  you  answer  me  honestly  ?" 

"I  mean  just  what  I  cay,"  said  Nelson.  "I  would 
hang  either  of  these  in  my  room,  and  I  would  much 
prefer  them  to  any  oi  the  French  actresses  you  have 
covered  the  walls  with/' 

"  But,"  said  Gerald^  with  an  air  of  bewilderment, 
"  they  are  not— clothed." 

"Not  with  manufactured  garments,  it  is  }rue," 
replied  Nelson,  slowly,  "  but  with  purity  and  grace 
beyond  doubt,  something  that  cannot  be  said  of 
most  of  yours  which  I  have  criticised.  Clothes  do 
not,  of  necessity,  give  an  air  of  purity  to  woman. 
Here  is  a  nude  and  a  half  nude,  and  yet  the  artists 
have  so  idealized  their  subjects  that  no  evil  thought 


TBS  VIBL  WITH  THB  JHKI.TBJ.  4P 

could  arise  from  the  contemplation  of  the  unveiled 
charms.  This  one  has  Innocence  written  on  her 
forehead.  This  has  Repentance  on  hers.  It  does 
not  need  a  key  to  tell  the  story  of  either.  One  has 
never  sinned  ;  the  other  has  been  purified  by  suffer- 
ing. I  will  show  that  I  mean  what  I  say  by  buying 
both  of  them,  for  I  am  sure  I  could  make  no  better 
use  of  my  money." 

Gerald  was  astounded.  He  had  never  heard  such 
words  from  his  friend's  lips,  and  he  felt  that  there 
was  truth  in  them.  The  incident  opened  up  to  him 
a  new  vein  of  thought.  The  next  time  he  contem- 
plated the  rows  of  photographs  that  he  had  so  much 
admired  they  seemed  cheap  and  tawdry.  The  en- 
gravings that  Nelson  had  hung  by  their  side,  neatly 
framed,  seemed  to  shame  them  out  of  countenance. 
It  was  marvelous  that  a  picture  of  a  woman  without 
a  vestige  of  clothing  and  another  with  her  garments 
fallen  to  her  hips  could  make  others  in  the  ordinary 
costumes  of  the  variety  stage  look  half  obscene  by 
contrast.  He  began  to  have  an  increased  estimate 
of  the  mental  powers  of  his  friend,  and  yet  he  had 
dwelt  too  long  on  his  own  conceptions  to  have  his 
views  radically  changed  in  a  moment. 

The  effect  of  the  purchase  of  the  two  engravings 
and  of  their  being  placed  in  proximity  to  the  photo- 
graphs was  to  discourage  the  purchase  of  any  more 
of  the  latter  specimens,  but  soon  Gerald  found  him- 
self growing  interested  in  the  living  women  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact.  Instead  of  bringing 
home  specimens  of  th*  art  of  the  photographer,  he 
took  to  relating  the  charms  of  various  girls  whom 
he  met,  aYid  Clifford  thought  the  change  not  entirely 
one  of  improvement.  So  long  as  Gerald  contented 


50  THE  GARSTON  BIftAMT, 

himself  with  admiring  these  creatures  at  a  distance 
there  was,  however,  Jttle  harm  to  be  apprehended. 
Another  thing  was  noticeable.  None  of  the  women 
of  whom  he  used  to  bring  accounts  possessed  in  her- 
self more  than  one  or  two  of  the  perfections  that  he 
thought  ought  to  be  expected  in  a  physical  para- 
gon. 

One  day  he  would  go  wild  over  a  pair  of  eyes 
that  he  had  seen0  Another  day  it  would  be  a  neck, 
again  a  waist,  again  a  chin  or  a  hand.  He  devel- 
oped a  fondness  for  even  the  attire  which  they  wore, 
and  fell  in  love  with  a  bonnet,  a  sleeve  or  a  skirt,  as 
the  case  might  be.  He  would  become  quite  exas- 
perated at  Nelson  for  his  unappreciation  of  these 
things,  and  declare  him  an  old  fogy  who  was  buried 
in  his  books  so  deep  that  he  could  not  see  anything 
outside  their  covers. 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  was  this  time?"  he 
cried,  with  extraordinary  enthusiasm,  one  evening, 
as  he  returned  from  a  walk.  "  I  never  saw  anything 
so  dainty  in  all  my  life  !" 

"  Oh,  an  ankle,  probably,**  was  the  disheartening 
reply. 

"  An  ankle  !  two  of  them  !"  exclaimed  Gerald 
"A  tiny  boot,  white  skirts  trimmed  with  lace,  and 
then  the  ankles,  all  getting  into  a  carriage  at  the 
depot.  I  would  not  have  let  them  out  of  my  sight, 
if  there  had  been  any  reasonable  way  to  follow 
them.  There  was  a  man  with  her,  of  course,  but  he 
could  have  been  got  rid  of,  I  suppose.  Oh,  was 
there  ever  such  confounded  luck  !" 

Nelson  beamed  upon  him  with  mild  protest. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  silly  ?  "  he  asked.  "Ankles 
are  all  alike,  varying  only  with  the  height  or  weight 


THE   GIBL  WITH   THE    MJKLES.  51 

of  the  person  who  owns  them.  There  is  absolutely 
nothing  pretty  about  them,  novelists  and  poets  to 
the  contrary  notwithstanding.  An  ankle  consists  of 
a  certain  number  of  bones,  a  little  cartilage,  some 
cuticle,  some — " 

"  But  these  ankles  were  made  of  no  such  prosaic 
material,"  interrupted  Gerald,  impatiently.  "  You 
should  have  seen  them,  Cliff.  My  head  is  in  a  whirl 
now,  and  it  is  over  half  an  hour  since  they  vanished." 

"What  a  paragon  of  loveliness  you  would  have, 
if  you  would  only  get  all  the  beautiful  limbs,  bodies, 
busts,  ankles  and  the  rest  into  one  form.  Somehow 
there  always  seems  to  be  something  lacking  when- 
ever you  discover  one  attribute  of  perfection.  I'll 
wager  that  this  girl's  face  was  not  in  proportionately 
wonderful  beauty  to  those  remarkable  ankles." 

"  I  never  looked  at  it,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  hadn't 
time.  I  was  crossing  the  street  at  the  station  when 
the  ankles  became  visible.  The  sheen  of  the  skirts  and 
lace  smote  me  across  the  brain  like  a  ray  from  a 
burning  glass.  The  man  who  accompanied  the 
ankles  sprang  into  the  carriage  after  her,  and  the 
driver  started  away.  I  do  think  the  girl  looked  at 
me,  but  I  am  not  certain.  I  care  nothing  for  her 
face,  except  that  it  might  serve  as  a  means  of  iden- 
tification, and  now,  unhappily,  I  have  nothing.  No ! 
I  never  shall  see  those  ankles  again  !  " 

Nelson  left  the  room,  and  a  moment  later  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door.  On  opening  it,  Gerald 
found  Colonel  Staples  and  Edith  at  the  entrance. 

"It  was  you  that  we  saw  at  the  station,"  cried 
Edith,  noting  his  costume.  "  I  told  papa  I  could  not 
be  mistaken.  How  is  it  possible  that  you  did  not 
recognize  us  ? " 


Jti  THB  OARSTON  BIOAMT. 

"At  the  station?  Just  a  little  while  ag»  ?- be 
stammered. 

"  Why,  yes,  the  very  last  train." 

*  I  was  there,  but  I  did  not  recognize  anybody 
that  I  knew,"  he  said,  feeling  as  if  he  was  going  to 
faint 

The  Colonel  shook  hands  heartily  with  him  and 
explained  that  as  they  had  happened  to  be  in  the 
neighborhood,  they  thought  a  call  would  be  in  order. 
As  Edith  was  getting  into  a  carriage  at  the  depot 
she  had  declared  that  Gerald  had  just  passed  the 
corner,  but  he  had  told  her  she  must  be  mistaken, 
for  he  would  have  been  certain  to  have  seen  them. 
He  laughed  over  the  matter,  and  enjoyed  the  mortU 
fication  of  Gerald,  which  of  course  he  did  not  at  all 
understand.  Clifford  returned  at  the  juncture, 
and  the  usual  formalities  followed. 

"  Alma  sends  her  regards,"  said  Edith  presently. 
"Our  only  regret  was  that  she  could  not  come 
with  us." 

"And  how  is  she?" 

"As  well  as  can  be.  I  think  she  never  looked 
better.  I  am  growing  very  proud  of  her.  She  weighs 
— how  much  do  you  suppose  ? — a  hundred  and  ten  1 
I  weigh  nearly  a  hundred  myself." 

Gerald  was  regaining  his  composure. 

"  You  would  be  heavier  to  carry  over  brooks  than 
you  used,"  he  smiled.  "  Still  I  think  I  could  manage 
it.  I  am  very  strong  since  I  have  taken  the  gymnas- 
tics here." 

"  Did  you  know,"  said  Edith,  "  that  Alma  and  I 
are  going  to  a  seminary  in  the  autumn?" 

•'  No  ! " 

M  But  we  are.    Papa  thinks  it  would  be  nice,  and 


THE  OIBL  WITH  THB   ANKLES.  53 

Mr.  Adams  says  Alma  may  go  if  I  do.  Of  course, 
one  of  us  couldn't  go  anywhere  without  the  other. 
We  finish  the  year  at  the  Jefferson  Academy  in  June, 
and  in  September  I  think  we  shall  go  to  boarding- 
school.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

Gerald  was  thoughtful  for  a  few  minutes. 

"I  am  going  to  Chicago  to  study  law  in  an  office," 
he  said,  "and  I  know  of  a  young  ladies'  seminary 
there  that  would  be  just  the  thing  for  you.  If  you 
decide  to  go  to  one,  why  not  take  that  school  ?  Then 
we  could  all  be  near  together." 

Edith  turned  to  her  father  with  an  eager  counten- 
ance, the  joy  of  which  was  not  lost  on  the  observant 
Nelson. 

"  That  would  be  splendid  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"That  would  be  splendid!"  echoed  Colonel 
Staples. 

It  was  clear  that  Gerald's  opinion  went  far  with 
both  of  them.  But  Clifford  had  seen  enough  at 
Jefferson  to  know  that  it  went  quite  as  far  with  Mr. 
Adams  and  Alma. 

Colonel  Staples  took  a  survey  of  the  walls  of  the 
room,  during  the  brief  pauses  in  the  conversation. 

"You  have  quite  a  collection  of  pictures  here,"  he 
remarked  dryly  to  Nelson,  and  the  young  man  knew 
by  the  tone  he  used  that  he  did  not  approve  of 
them.  Edith  realized  instinctively  that  there  was 
something  not  quite  pleasing  to  him  in  what  he 
spoke  of,  and  consequently  did  not  carry  her  gaze 
to  the  objects  under  discussion.  There  was  only  a 
second  for  Gerald  to  make  up  his  mind  what  to  do, 
but  it  was  enough. 

"  Most  of  them  are  mine,  sir,"  he  said. 

*  Some  are  very  finely  executed,"  responded  thf> 


54  THE   GARSTON   BIGAMT. 

Colonel  apologetically,  knowing  that  there  had  been 
an  objectionable  quality  in  the  tone  which  he  had 
first  used,  and  wishing  to  efface  the  unpleasant  effect. 
"These  two  engravings  " — he  pointed  to  those  of  the 
nude  figures — "are  fit  for  any  parlor  in  the  land." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  asked  Gerald,  calmly. 
"Those  are  Cliff's." 

Colonel  Staples  got  out  of  it  as  best  he  could.  He 
asked  Nelson  where  he  had  purchased  them,  and 
said  he  should  certainly  stop  at  that  shop  and  leave 
an  order  for  a  pair  to  be  sent  to  his  residence.  After 
a  little  longer  the  visitors  went  away. 

"  You  were  very  kind,"  said  Clifford,  warmly,  when 
he  was  alone  again  with  his  friend. 

"How?" 

"About  the  pictures." 

"  I  could  not  have  done  less.  He  didn't  like 
them,  though,  I  could  feel  that.  Confound  them  !  I 
have  a  notion  to  put  them  all  in  the  stove ! " 

Nelson  did  not  answer.  Gerald  broke  the  silence 
presently. 

"You  remember  the  girl  with  the  ankles?" 

"Yes." 

*  //  was  she  /  " 

Clifford  was  too  petrified  to  form  a  reply. 


CHAPTER  V. 

*  WE  HAVE  MADE  A  VOW.  * 

Gerald  was  twenty-one  when  he  came  back  to  Jeff- 
erson with  his  diploma  in  his  hand  and  exhibited  to 


"WE  HAVE  MADE  A  VOW.*  »5 

his  father  with  much  pride  the  evidence  that  ne  was 

a  bachelor  of  arts. 

With  hardly  less  satisfaction  he  took  out  his  parch- 
ment at  the  residences  of  the  Stapleses  and  Adamses. 
The  Colonel  was  pleased  to  find  that  he  had  not 
merely  skimmed  the  sea  of  knowledge,  but  had  gone 
down  into  the  roots  of  things  and  laid  the  foundation 
for  a  future  that  would  be  of  genuine  use  to  him. 

"  And  now  you  are  going  to  study  law,"  he  said. 
"  What  induced  you  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  an  honorable  profession,"  replied 
Gerald,  "and  one  that  would  be  likely  to  bring  a 
fair  share  of  reward  for  the  labor  expended." 

"  You  can  make  it  an  honorable  one,  as  far  as  you 
are  concerned  ;  but  the  majority  of  lawyers  are 
sharpers.  Of  course,  you  will  be  different,"  laughed 
the  Colonel.  "  And  you  will  make  a  bee-line  for 
the  bench." 

"  I  have  hardly  thought  of  that,"  said  Gerald, 
with  a  blush.  "  I  expect  to  have  a  hard  time  at  the 
beginning,  but  I  mean  to  work  my  way." 

Edith  came  into  the  room  as  they  were  talking. 
For  a  wonder,  Alma  was  not  with  her,  but  she  al- 
ready had  her  bonnet  on  and  was  going  to  Mr. 
Adams'  house  as  soon  as  Gerald  was  ready.  They 
had  both  been  invited  there  to  tea. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  young  man's  idea  of 
being  a  lawyer  ?"  asked  her  father,  placing  an  arm 
around  herwaist  and  drawing  her  to  him. 

"  I  think  he  ought  to  make  a  good  one,"  she  said, 
gmilingupon  the  object  of  the  inquiry 

The  father  toyed  with  one  of  the  dainty  hands, 
which  he  had  taken  in  his  own. 

"  Do  you  think  he  would  have  influence   with  a 


B6  THE  GARSTON  BIGAMY. 

jury  ?"  he  asked.    "  If  women  ever  get  the  right  to 

vote,  as  some  of  them  are  trying  to,  and  you  ar* 
drawn  on  a  jury,  and  Gerald  is  counsel  in  a  case,  d» 
you  think  he  will  affect  you  by  his  argument  ?" 

The  girl  laughed  at  the  humor  of  the  widely  dtawn 
conceit. 

"I  hope  the  time  will  never  come  when  women 
vote  in  Iowa,"  she  answered,  "  and  I'm  sure  it  would 
be  perfectly  dreadful  to  have  to  sit  on  a  jury.  As  for 
Gerald's  plea,  I  hope  I  should  be  influenced  by  it,  if 
it  was  on  the  side  of  right  and  justice." 

Colonel  Staples  laughed  aloud. 

"  I  see  you  do  not  understand  the  law  business," 
said  he.  "It  matters  little  to  a  lawyer  where  the 
right  and  justice  of  a  case  is.  He  is  there  to  win  a 
verdict  for  his  client,  and  that  is  all  he  cares  about." 

But  Gerald  interposed. 

"  Speaking  for  myself,  sir,  I  should  not  take  a  case 
unless  I  believed  it  in  the  interest  of  right." 

Then  the  Colonel  laughed  again. 

•'You  would  easily  convince  yourself  of  that 
when  a  good  retainer  was  placed  in  your  hand. 
But  I  am  keeping  you  from  your  engagement,  and 
we  shall  have  to  dismiss  the  matter  for  the  present." 

He  rose  as  if  to  leave  them,  but  Edith  did  not  let 
him  go.  With  one  hand  still  clasped  in  his,  she 
stood  with  him  before  the  young  man. 

"  You  would  not  take  the  part  of  the  wrong  against 
the  right,  merely  because  you  were  paid  for  it,  would 
you,  Gerald  ?" 

4<  Pshaw,  pet !"  exclaimed  her  father.  "  You  must 
not  take  me  too  seriously.  Gerald  would  be  as  hon- 
orable as  is  possible  for  one  of  the  profession  te  be,  I 
have  net  the  slightest  doubt." 


WWE  HAVE  MADS  A  VOW.*  If 

She  took  the  young  man's  sleeve  in  her  clasp  and 
spoke  with  feeling. 

"  Never  the  part  of  the  wrong  against  the  right, 
never  the  side  of  the  strong  against  the  weak  !  Tell 
him,  Gerald,  that  you  would  never  do  that,  no  matter 
what  the  inducement." 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  said  the  Colonel,  still 
trying  to  make  a  joke  out  of  the  matter,  "that the 
right  and  the  weak  have  little  with  which  to  pay  fees 
to  lawyers.  If  Gerald  is  to  go  into  this  thing  with 
the  notion  of  making  a  living,  he  will  have  to  do  as 
the  others  do." 

She  clasped  tighter  the  sleeve  that  she  held,  and 
refused  to  consider  the  matter  a  light  one. 

"Tell  him,  Gerald." 

"  She  is  right,"  he  answered,  moved  by  her  ear- 
nestness. "  There  must  be  an  honorable  way  of 
earning  a  livelihood  at  the  bar.  That  way  I  shall 
endeavor  to  follow." 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  said  Colonel  Staples,  heart- 
ily. "The  idea,  Edith,  of  your  taking  my  little 
joke  so  seriously !  Come,  you  must  be  going,  or 
you  will  keep  Mr.  Adams'  table  waiting." 

As  they  walked  along  the  road  toward  the  farmer's, 
Edith  said,  "You  must  forgive  me,  Gerald.  I  could 
not  bear  that  any  one  should  intimate,  even  in,  jest, 
that  you  could  ever  do  a  dishonorable  thing.  If 
there  is  no  other  way  to  practice  law,  I  hope  you 
will  adopt  some  other  profession  while  there  is  yet 
time." 

He  assured  her  of  the  rectitude  of  his  intentions, 
and  long  before  they  reached  their  destination  they 
had  changed  the  subject  for  one  more  agreeable. 

Alma  was  watching  on  th«  veranda,  and  ran  to 


58  THB  OAKSTON  BIGAMY. 

meet  them.  She  threw  both  arms  about  Edith's 
neck,  as  though  she  had  not  seen  her  for  a  month, 
though  it  was  scarcely  two  hours  since  they  had 
parted,  and  gave  her  hand  warmly  to  Gerald. 

The  girls  were  at  this  period  eighteen  years  of  age, 
and  the  promise  of  their  earlier  days  had  been  amply 
fulfilled.  The  one  reminded  you  of  a  lily,  the  other 
of  a  blush  rose  nearing  maturity.  Edith  was  still  the 
taller  and  slenderer,  Alma  the  rounder  of  outline  and 
fuller  of  chest.  Alma  had  a  dark  beauty,  sensuous 
and  warm.  Edith  was  a  trifle  more  dignified  and 
stately,  but  without  the  suspicion  of  airiness,  in  the 
unpleasant  sense  in  which  the  word  is  often  used. 
Jefferson  debated  the  question  daily,  as  it  had  for 
the  past  five  years,  and  could  never  come  to  a  decis- 
ion which  was  the  lovelier.  On  one  point  the  entire 
village  was  agreed,  however,  and  that  was  that  two 
finer  girls  could  not  be  found  in  the  county  or  State. 
Neither  of  them  had  an  enemy  and  surely  neither 
of  them  deserved  one. 

Naturally  enough  Mr.  Adams  began  to  talk  of 
Gerald's  future  prospects,  when  the  party  were  seat- 
ed at  the  table,  and  the  subject  of  the  law  as  a  pro- 
fession was  soon  again  under  discussion. 

"I  wish  you  were  ready  to  begin  practice  now," 
he  said,  "for  I  could  give  you  enough  to  occupy  your 
time  for  awhile.  This  matter  of  my  mill  power  is 
causing  me  some  trouble.  The  people  up  stream 
complain  because  the  water  overflows  upon  their 
land  at  some  seasons  of  the  year.  The  whole  batch 
of  them  have  joined  in  a  suit  against  me,  and  I  shall 
have  to  defend  it.  It  would  have  made  a  good  be- 
ginning for  a  young  attorney  to  get  hold  of  a  case 
like  this,  and  I  arq  sorry,  both  for  your  sake  and  nay 


"WE  HAVE  MADE  A  vow."  50 

own  that  you  have  not  already  been  admitted  to  ttw 
bar." 

Gerald  looked  pleased  at  the  compliment  implied, 
but  Edith  could  not  help  asking  the  question  which 
was  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

"Who  has  the  right  of  the  matter,  Mr.  Adams?" 

The  farmer  looked  at  his  questioner  with  some 
surprise. 

"Why,  I,  of  course,"  he  answered. 

"Then  why  do  these  men  seek  to  annoy  you?" 

"They  would  like  to  get  a  few  thousand  dollars 
out  of  me  if  they  could,  that's  all.  You  see  when  I 
decided  that  I  started  my  mill  I  bought  up  the  rights 
of  the  abuttors  on  this  stream  clear  up  to  its  source. 
For  a  long  distance  through  the  prairie  it  hasn't 
much  headway,  and  when  I  fill  the  reservoir  it  some- 
times makes  the  water  flow  over  the  land  for  a  good 
distance  back.  That  was  to  be  expected,  as  anybody 
could  have  told  them." 

"  But  did  anybody  tell  them  ? "  pursued  the  ques- 
tioner. 

Mr.  Adams  grew  slightly  uneasy. 

"  I  don't  know  as  anybody  did.  /didn't,  I'm  sure. 
Men  are  supposed  to  know  some  things.  When  I 
bought  their  rights  they  knew  it  was  for  the  purpose 
of  securing  the  water  for  my  mill,  and  that  I  should 
have  to  build  my  reservoir  accordingly.  If  there  is 
double  the  water  I  need  at  certain  seasons  it  is  very 
natural  to  expect  that  it  will  overflow." 

Edith  would  not  be  dissuaded  from  her  inquiries. 

"  And  this  overflow  water  injures  the  land  ?  " 

"  Very  likely.  But  what  did  I  pay  for  ?  I  handed 
over  two  thousand  dollars  to  those  fellows,  and  for 
what  ?  I  didn't  take  a  foot  of  their  territery  away 


00  THE  GAB8TOS  BIGAMY. 

from  them.  They  can  water  their  cattle  in  the  brook 
and  wash  their  wagons  there,  and  carry  water  to 
their  houses  to  use,  as  well  as  they  ever  could.  I 
paid  for  the  privilege  of  using  the  water  for  a  mill, 
and  to  keep  any  one  else  from  locating  above  me, 
and  I  say  it's  a  shame  for  them  to  band  together  and 
hire  a  lawyer  to  compel  me  to  pay  for  the  same  thing 
twice." 

Mrs.  Adams  and  Alma  listened  with  interest,  and 
it  was  evident  that  their  sympathies  were  with  the 
speaker. 

a  I  don't  know  much  about  law,"  said  Edith,  and 
she  was  so  taken  up  with  the  subject  at  issue  that 
she  quite  neglected  her  meal.  "  But  a  case  of  this 
kind  seems  to  me  one  of  simple  right.  Either  you 
have  the  privilege  of  stopping  up  this  brook  so  that 
it  will  run  upon  the  premises  of  your  neighbors,  or 
you  have  not.  If  you  have,  they  are  very  wrong  to 
cause  you  expense,  and  they  will  lose  their  case 
when  it  comes  to  the  court.  If  you  have  not,  you 
ought  to  pay  them  whatever  Is  just." 

Mr.  Adams  was  astonished  to  hear  this  logic 
evolved  from  the  young  brain,  and  he  did  not  knoMC 
the  reason  that  had  made  Edith  all  at  once  so  pro- 
found a  student  of  equity.  H«*  might  have  been 
angry  had  these  same  remarks  come  from  another 
source,  but  Edith  was  to  him  almost  like  another 
daughter,  and  he  wanted  to  justify  Himself  in  her 
eyes  for  the  course  he  had  taken. 

"  If  these  fellows  had  come  to  me  in  ai»v  fair  way, 
Edith,  and  said  that  they  thought  I  was  exceeding 
my  right  in  letting  the  water  overflow,  I  should  feel 
very  different  about  it.  But  the  first  thing  I  heard 
•f  the  case  was  a  note  from  Lawyer  Cass,  of  Des 


WB  HATE  MADE   A   TOW.  «ft 

Moines,  a  man  I  despise,  telling  me  that  unless  I 
paid  a  certain  sum  in  so  many  days  he  should  enter 
suit.  No  one  likes  to  be  bulldozed,  and  I  told  him 
to  go  ahead  and  sue.  I  can  spend  as  much  money 
as  they  can,  and  I  think  they  will  find  it  out  before 
they  are  through  with  me." 

Edith  nodded. 

"  No  doubt  you  can,  Mr.  Adams.  Would  it  not  be 
better  to  find  out  who  is  in  the  right  and  let  that 
govern  the  decision  now,  instead  of  after  a  great  deal 
of  money  has  been  wasted  by  both  of  you  in  litiga- 
tion ?" 

Her  cheeks  shone  with  an  unaccustomed  color, 
for  she  knew  that  what  she  was  saying  might  savor 
of  impertinence. 

"  You  would  not  give  the  lawyers  any  chance  to 
live  at  all,"  he  said,  smiling  for  the  first  time. 
44  Imagine  yourself  in  that  business,  and  I  came  to 
you  in  this  case,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

44  I  would  tell  you  just  what  I  have,  and  then  I 
would  charge  you  a  good  round  sum  for  my  advice." 

Everybody  at  the  table  laughed  now,  and  harmony, 
which  had  apparently  been  threatened  for  a  few 
moments,  was  fully  restored.  Mr.  Adams  said  seri- 
ously that  he  did  not  know  but  he  should  carry  out 
the  plan  suggested,  as  it  certainly  had  elements  of 
good  sense  in  it,  though  the  parties  to  the  suit  had 
exasperated  him  somewhat  by  their  method  of  sum- 
mary procedure. 

"When  you  get  to  practicing,  Gerald,"  he  said, 
jocosely,  "  you  had  better  offer  Edith  a  position  as 
partner  in  your  concern." 

"I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  do  that,"  said  the 


62  THE   GAKSTON    BIGAMY. 

young  man,  relieved  that  the  dispute  had  had  sc 
happy  an  ending. 

"You  will  have  to  take  me,  too,  then,"  put  in  Alma, 
with  a  roguish  smile.  "  Edie  and  I  are  never  to  be 
separated.  We  have  made  a  vow  to  live  togethei 
all  our  lives,  haven't  we,  Edie,  dear  ?  " 

Gerald  laughed  at  that,  and  said  he  should  cer- 
tainly take  them  both,  and  Mrs.  Adams,  who  was 
not  much  of  a  talker,  interrupted  to  suggest  that  the 
party  were  neglecting  the  supper,  which  was  some- 
thing she  could  not  permit.  They  then  devoted  their 
attention  to  the  edibles,  and  the  remarks  that  were 
made  took  on  a  lighter  tone,  until  a  very  pleasant 
evening  had  been  passed. 

When  the  hour  arrived  for  separation,  Edith  re- 
minded Gerald  that  he  had  promised  her  mother 
to  see  her  to  her  door.  Alma  thereupon  declared 
that  it  would  be  too  bad  for  him  to  return  alone,  as 
he  must  pass  her  house  on  his  way  to  his  own,  and 
ran  to  get  her  hat  to  accompany  them.  Edith 
thanked  her  warmly  for  the  thought,  and  the  trio 
went  up  the  road  together. 

"  I  have  had  a  splendid  evening,"  said  Edith,  when 
she  reached  her  door.  "  I  hope  your  father  didn't 
think  me  saucy  for  saying  so  much  about  the  mill- 
water,  but  I  got  more  interested  in  the  matter  than 
I  could  give  any  reason  for.  I  wish  you  would  put 
in  a  word,  too,  Alma.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of 
neighbors  going  to  law  when  there  is  any  way  to 
prevent  it." 

"  Oh,  papa  will  do  as  he  likes,"  said  Alma.  "  And 
I  don't  know  as  I  quite  agree  with  you  in  this  case, 
Edie.  They  have  been  very  aggravating,  and  he 
paid  them  what  everybody  said  was  too  much  in  the 


68 


first  place.  I  hate  to  see  men  trying  to  get  money 
out  of  another  just  because  he  has  been  successful. 
It  would  serve  them  right  not  to  give  them  a  penny, 
and  a  lawyer  that  papa  has  seen  tells  him  they  can 
never  get  anything  if  they  fight  till  doomsday." 

Edith  looked  worried. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  know  anything  about  it,"  she 
answered,  "  but  if  it  were  my  case,  I  would  settle  it 
the  simplest  way.  Well,  good  night." 

The  girls  embraced  each  other,  and  Edith's  hand 
was  extended  to  Gerald  with  her  usual  heartiness. 

"  You'll  be  over  in  the  morning,  of  course,"  called 
Alma. 

"  Yes,  and  I  want  you  here  in  the  afternoon,  you 
know." 

"  All  right." 

Gerald  and  Alma  strolled  back  toward  their 
homes  with  no  greater  evidence  of  affection  than 
when  the  party  numbered  three. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  mill  matter?"  she 
asked  him  suddenly,  leaving  another  subject  to  come 
back  to  this  one. 

"  There  are  two  sides  to  it,"  he  answered,  vaguely. 

"  But  which  is  the  best  ?  Do  you  entirely  agree 
with  Edith?" 

He  had  unquestionably  done  so  when  she  was 
speaking  to  Mr.  Adams.  It  seemed  to  him  then 
that  there  was  no  other  way  that  ought  to  be  thought 
of.  Now  that  Alma's  tone  implied  a  variance  of 
opinion,  he  had  grave  doubts. 

"  Ought  any  one  to  allow  themselves  to  be  im- 
posed upon?"  asked  Alma,  not  giving  him  time  to 
speak.  "  Is  it  the  duty  of  a  man  who  knows  he  is  in 
the  right,  to  pay  out  a  sum  of  money  for  the  benefit 


ft  TBS  GAMTOIT   BIGAMY. 

of  others,  just  to  avoid  standing  up  in  a  court  and 

defending  himself  against  them  ?" 

"Not  in  that  view  of  the  matter,  certainly,"  he 
answered.  Then  he  added,  diplomatically,  "  I  am 
sure  your  father  will  consider  the  case  from  all 
sides,  and  do  what  he  thinks  just." 

Alma  grew  as  earnest  as  fidith  had  done. 

"  It  is  not  exactly  that,"  she  said.  "  He  has  paid 
them  once,  and  a  good  round  sum,  too,  for  what 
was  no  loss  to  them  whatever.  Now  they  have 
gone  to  work  and  sued  him  for  much  more.  It 
was  no  doings  of  his — they  have  entered  on  it  of 
their  own  accord.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  ought,  in 
the  interest  of  others  who  may  be  imposed  upon  in 
that  way,  at  other  times,  to  teach  them  that  this 
sort  of  thing  does  not  pay  those  who  engage  in  it." 

Gerald  admitted  that  there  was  something  in  that. 
He  wondered,  at  the  same  time,  what  answer  he 
would  have  been  able  to  make  had  both  the  girl* 
been  present. 

"Do  you  imagine  I  would  renounce  any  right 
that  belonged  to  me,  because  some  one  tried  to  rob 
me  of  it  ?"  she  asked,  looking  at  him  with  the  air 
of  a  young  princess.  «•  Never !  Neither,  I  believe, 
will  my  father,  when  he  comes  to  think  it  over." 

They  were  at  her  gate,  and  it  occurred  to  him  for 
the  first  time  what  a  queenly  figure  she  had  become. 
Her  handsome  head  was  beautifully  set  upon  a 
neck  of  surpassing  loveliness,  and  her  round  bosom 
gave  her  a  pose  at  once  persuasive  and  command- 
ing. He  had  not  dreamed  in  all  his  life  of  offering 
her  a  more  warm  salute  than  a  pressure  of  the 
hand,  but  into  his  brain  there  came  the  swift 
thought  that  strawberries  were  to  be  gathered  cm 


*•  WHT,    TOT  LOY»  THBM  BOTH.1*  «* 

tnose  ripe  lips,  never  yet  touched  by  lover.      The 

half  moon  poured  its  light  through  the  trees  upon 
them.  Neither  spoke  for  some  moments,  but  she 
knew  that  his  eyes  had  seen  something  never  re- 
vealed before,  and  her  heart  gave  a  throb  quite  new 
to  its  maiden  pulsations. 

*'  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,"  she  said,  breaking 
the  stillness  from  very  necessity. 

"Yes,  sometime.  I  have  promised  to  devote  a 
little  of  each  day  to  reading  law,  so  as  to  put  my- 
self ahead  when  I  get  to  Chicago.  But  I  will  come 
over  afterward." 

They  exchanged  good  nights,  and  he  walked  the 
few  steps  that  took  him  to  his  door  with  the 
strangest  feelings  he  had  ever  had.  His  head  was 
hot  and  there  was  a  commotion  in  all  his  arteries. 

He  only  exchanged  a  word  with  his  father,  who 
had  sat  up  to  wait  for  him.  He  wanted  to  get  to 
bis  own  room,  where  he  could  be  alone. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
"WHY,  you  LOVE  THEM  BOTH.** 

Alvah  Adams  thought  a  good  deal  over  the  sug«* 
gestion  that  Edith  had  made  in  reference  to  the  mill- 
stream  claims,  and  convinced  himself  that  she  had  a 
good  deal  of  right  on  her  side.  He  was  not  natur- 
ally belligerant,  and  would  much  rather  exchange 
pleasant  words  with  any  person  than  cross  ones. 
There  were  only  a  dozen  parties  or  so  to  the  suit 
which  had  been  brought  against  him,  and  he  con- 


THE   GARSTON   BIOAMT. 

eluded  to  send  some  one  to  them  individually  to 
ascertain  what  sum  would  satisfy  each  in  case  he 
should  decide  to  settle  the  matter. 

It  was  not  wise  for  him  to  go,  because  they  would 
then  have  a  chance  to  quote  his  offers  should  negoti- 
ations fail.  Some  outsider  must  do  the  work,  and 
he  naturally  thought  of  employing  one  of  the  law- 
yers of  the  village.  But  he  knew  both  of  these  legal 
luminaries  very  well  and  he  had  not  the  greatest 
confidence  in  them.  Of  one  he  doubted  the  ability 
and  he  had  fears  of  the  other's  integrity. 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  ask  Gerald.  The 
young  man  was  unversed  in  the  ways  of  business,  to 
be  sure,  but  it  was  a  very  simple  thing  he  would  have 
to  do.  A  little  tact,  a  smoothing  over  of  any  animosi- 
ties that  had  been  developed,  and  an  appeal  to  their 
common  sense  was  all  that  was  needed,  and  Gerald 
could  do  this  as  well  as  an  older  and  more  experi- 
enced person.  Besides,  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for 
him,  as  a  prelude  to  the  profession  he  was  about  to 
adopt.  Yes,  he  would  offer  him  the  work. 

Gerald  was  a  little  startled  when  the  proposition 
was  made  to  him.  He  feared  that  it  was  beyond  his 
powers  to  undertake  the  reconciliation  of  elements 
already  so  far  divided.  He  knew  enough  of  human 
nature  to  see  that  the  task  was  a  very  different  one 
at  the  present  stage  from  what  it  would  have  been 
before  ill  feeling  had  become  so  large  an  ingredient, 
He  would  have  to  meet  men  who  not  only  felt  them- 
selves entitled  to  damages  for  the  actual  trespass 
they  had  sustained,  but  who  had  been  injured  in 
their  pride  by  words  that  naturally  follow*  strained 
relations.  They  had  doubtless  had  conferences 
together  in  their  aggrieved  state  and  had  resoV  ed 


**  WHT,    TOTT  IXDVE   THEM   BOTH."  6T 

to  do  everything  in  their  power  to  defeat  their 
opponent. 

He  said  to  Mr.  Adams,  while  he  was  flattered  by 
being  selected  for  this  undertaking,  he  feared  he 
could  not  enter  upon  it  with  sufficient  confidence. 
He  thought  some  older  and  more  experienced 
person  would  be  better  to  engage.  Mr.  Adams 
replied  that  he  was  willing  to  run  all  the  risks 
himself,  and  that  he  would  not  hold  him  at  all 
responsible  in  the  event  of  failure. 

"You  can  see  these  men,  at  least,"  said  he,  "and 
report  to  me  the  mood  they  are  in.  It  may  be  that 
I  shall  be  compelled  to  go  to  law,  after  all.  But 
before  anything  more  is  done  in  that  line  I  want  to 
give  them  a  chance  to  get  out  of  it.  What  Edith 
said  the  other  evening  made  a  great  impression  upon 
me.  I  have  never  wittingly  wronged  any  person  and 
I  do  not  wish  to  begin.  I  would  rather  suffer  a 
small  loss  than  inflict  one.  As  she  says,  if  I  owe 
them  anything,  or  even  if  they  honestly  believe  I  do, 
it  will  make  me  feel  better  to  pay  it  than  to  inaugu- 
rate hates  and  jealousies.  You  are  going  to  be  a 
lawyer,  and  you  will  have  plenty  of  similar  cases  in 
your  time.  Here  is  a  good  one  to  begin  on.  I  shall 
pay  you  what  you  think  right  for  your  trouble,  and 
it  will  be  worth  a  good  deal  to  you  as  a  bit  of 
experience  beside." 

Gerald  answered  promptly  that  he  should  not 
think  of  accepting  compensation,  in  any  event.  He 
wanted  a  day  or  two,  at  any  rate,  to  think  it  over, 
and  to  this  Mr.  Adams  agreed. 

During  the  days  that  followed  Gerald  saw  Edith 
and  Alma  frequently,  and  with  both  of  them  the 
conversation  drifted  more  than  once  to  the  question 


68  TBB    GARfODN   BIOAMT. 

of  the  damages  claimed  by  the  abuttors  on  the  mill- 
stream.  As  the  girls  knew  that  they  could  not  agree 
in  their  opinions  upon  this  subject  it  was  never 
brought  up  when  they  were  together,  but  when  he 
was  alone  with  either  it  always  seemed  to  come  to 
the  surface.  He  mentioned  to  Edith  in  confidence, 
the  first  time  he  met  her,  that  Mr.  Adams  had  invit- 
ed him  to  undertake  the  task  of  arranging  the 
trouble,  and  she  heard  the  tidings  with  the  utmost 
delight. 

"  I  am  so  glad  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  will  ar- 
range everything,  I  am  sure,  and  these  old  friends 
will  not  be  converted  ,into  mortal  enemies.  Let  me 
congratulate  you,  Gerald,  that  your  first  essay  in 
legal  work  is  in  so  good  a  cause  !  " 

"I  have  not  promised  to  undertake  it  yet,"  he  an- 
swered, taken  aback  by  the  unmerited  praise  which 
she  showered  upon  him.  "  I  am  a  little  doubtful 
whether  some  one  else  would  not  have  a  better 
chance  of  success." 

She  looked  disappointed  but  not  discouraged. 

"  Go  about  it  with  a  determination  to  succeed,  and 
that  will  be  half  the  battle,"  she  replied.  "How 
much  pleasanter  will  be  your  task  to  offer  these  peo- 
ple an  olive-branch  than  if  you  had  to  send  them  a 
challenge  to  war.  If  you  decline  this  opportunity, 
girl  as  I  am,  I  think  I  shall  go  to  Mr.  Adams  and 
volunteer  myself." 

Wheo  he  left  her  he  was  almost  positive  that  he 
should  accept  the  offer.  There  seemed  but  one  view 
of  his  duty.  He  imagined  the  men  meeting  his  over- 
tures with  a  friendly  spirit,  and  naming  ridiculously 
small  sums  as  the  amounts  that  would  satisfy  them. 
His  confidence  rose  to  a  great  height,  and  had  he 


"WHY,    YOU  LOYB  THEM  BOTR." 

met  the  mill-owner  at  that  moment  he  would  have 
embraced  his  proposition  without  another  word. 
But  an  hour  later  he  met  Alma. 

"  I  wonder  if  father  has  decided  what  to  do  about 
those  men  who  are  suing  him,"  she  said.  "  He  will 
make  the  mistake  of  his  life  if  he  gives  them  a  sou. 
Let  him  once  get  the  reputation  of  being  so  easily 
imposed  upon  and  he  will  be  the  prey  of  all  the  ad- 
venturers in  the  State.  There  are  times  when  char- 
ity of  this  sort  for  a  batch  of  harpies  is  misplaced. 
And  the  attorney  they  have  engaged,  too !  A  man 
without  a  particle  of  decency  in  his  dealings  !  They 
ought  to  be  ashamed,  every  one  of  them  ! " 

The  fabric  that  had  been  builded  by  the  arguments 
of  Edith  tumbled  to  the  earth  in  a  formless  heap. 

"  I  must  tell  you  something,  Alma,"  said  he,  un- 
easily. "  Your  father  has  asked  me  to  go  to  these 
men  and  attempt  a  settlement  with  them." 

"  But  you  are  not  going,"  she  answered,  anxiously 

"  If  I  do  not,  he  will  send  some  one  else." 

"  That  does  not  excuse  you,"  she  replied,  with 
spirit.  "If  you  show  him,  as  you  are  able  to  do, how 
foolish  such  a  proceeding  would  be,  you  can  change 
his  mind.  I  think  it  your  duty  to  do  that,  before  he 
puts  himself  in  the  hands  of  this  crowd  who  would 
take  him  by  the  throat  like  a  pack  of  garroters." 

"  Why  do  notyou  say  something  to  him  ?  "  he  asked 
nervously.  "  You  would  have  more  influence  than 
any  one  else." 

"  Not  in  a  matter  of  business.  Father  thinks  a 
great  deal  of  me,  and  would  do  anything  I  asked 
where  I  myself  was  concerned,  but  in  such  a  case  as 
this  he  would  pay  no  more  attention  to  my  opinion 
than  if  I  were  an  infant  in  arms.  I  am  in  his  eye* 


70  THE    ftABSTON   BIOAlfT. 

'only  a  girl,'  but  you — you  are  a  man  !  What  you 
say,  he  will  take  at  its  true  value.  Try  him,  Gerald, 
and  if  you  cannot  dissuade  him  from  this  suicidal 
course,  at  least  be  able  to  remind  him  afterwards 
that  you  advised  against  it." 

He  wished  with  all  his  heart  that  he  could  say  to 
her  then  and  there  that  he  would  do  as  she  wished. 
But  what  could  he  tell  Edith,  who  had  understood, 
he  was  sure,  when  they  parted,  that  he  would  give 
advice  quite  the  opposite,  and  even  undertake  the 
mission  in  person. 

"  I  shall  have  to  think  about  it,"  was  all  he  was 
able  to  say. 

Whenever  he  met  one  of  them  or  the  other  their 
conflicting  arguments  on  this  subject  almost  distract- 
ed him.  He  was  not  used  to  having  any  matter  so 
muddled  in  his  brain.  He  could  decide  anything  he 
had  ever  had  to  consider  up  to  this  time,  with 
the  quickness  of  a  flash.  It  was  the  high  esteem  in 
which  he  held  them  both  that  confused  his  mind. 
He  could  not  bear  to  offend  either,  and  the  merits  of 
the  case  were  quite  hidden  in  the  affection  with 
which  he  regarded  the  fair  disputants.  If  he  had 
cared  one  jot  more  for  one  than  the  other,  that  jot 
would  have  sufficed.  While  each  of  them  held  iden- 
tically the  same  place  in  his  heart  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  continue  in  uncertainty. 

When  a  week  had  passed  Mr.  Adams  became  im- 
portunate for  his  answer,  telling  him  that  it  would 
seem  a  simple  matter  to  say  yes  or  no,  and  that  he 
wanted  to  engage  some  other  agent  in  case  he 
should  positively  decline.  Gerald  begged  for  a  few 
more  days  to  consider  it,  and  though  the  farmer 


11  WHY,    YOU    LOVE   THEM    BOTH.5*  71 

thought  it  very  strange,  he  consented  with  reluc- 
tance to  give  him  till  the  following  Wednesday. 
.  Monday  morning  Clifford  Nelson  came  to  Jeffer- 
son unannounced,  and  went  at  once  to  Mr.  Garston's. 
Gerald  had  been  hoping  to  have  his  ccmpany  during 
some  part  of  the  vacation  season,  but  had  not 
known  just  when  he  would  arrive.  He  welcomed 
him  now,  not  only  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him, 
but  because  he  thought  his  friend  might  be  able  to 
find  some  way  for  him  out  of  his  dilemma.  As  soon 
as  the  ordinary  topics  were  discussed  sufficiently  he 
threw  himself  upon  his  good  graces  and  told  him 
exactly  the  position  in  which  he  stood. 

Clifford  was  much  entertained  by  the  recital.  He 
did  not  care  a  rap  for  the  troubles  of  the  farmers 
whose  lands  had  been  overflowed,  or  the  threatened 
suit  which  hung  over  the  head  of  Mr.  Adams,  but 
the  subject  of  Gerald  and  the  girls  was  of  the  keen- 
est interest.  He  cared  more  and  more  for  Edith, 
and  only  waited  to  make  sure  that  he  could  do  so 
honorably,  to  endeavor  to  make  her  understand  his 
sentiments.  He  listened  to  Gerald's  statements, 
and  made  up  his  mind  to  side  with  her  if  the 
chance  fell  in  his  way,  and  also  to  let  her  know  that 
his  influence  had  been  cast  in  that  direction. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  hesitate,  if  the  case  is 
as  you  put  it,"  he  said,  when  Gerald  had  finished 
his  long  story.  "  Mr.  Adams  has  decided  to  make 
the  attempt  to  satisfy  these  people  outside  of  a 
courthouse,  and  all  you  could  say  would  not  be 
likely  to  alter  his  intention.  Miss  Edith  thinks  he 
is  right  in  trying  to  do  this,  and  so  do  I.  Miss 
Alma,  on  the  other  hand,  hoids  a  contrary  opinion, 
but  it  is  in  the  interest  of  her  own  father,  and  at  his 


7f  THE    GAKSTOW  BIOAKT. 

request,  that  you  are  to  undertake  the  work  of  pacH 
fication.  It  is  clearly  two-thirds  one  way,  if  not 
more.  You  must  tell  him  at  once  that  you  will 
accept  the  work,  and  lose  no  time  in  going  about  it. 
If  you  succeed,  you  get  a  large  feather  in  your  cap. 
If  you  fail,  he  will  remember  that  it  was  himself 
who  urged  you  to  the  step.  As  far  as  Miss  Alma  is 
concerned,  she  cannot  long  blame  you  for  doing 
what  her  father  asks." 

Gerald  did  not  seem  as  thoroughly  convinced  as 
his  friend  evidently  thought  he  should  be. 

"You  do  not  know  Alma,"  he  replied.  "She  has 
a  will  of  her  own,  and  her  father  thinking  the  other 
way  has  no  effect  at  all  on  her  opinion." 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  refuse,  and  have  done 
with  it  ?"  asked  Clifford. 

"  Because  Edith  has  urged  me  so  strongly  to 
accept.  I  do  not  think  I  count  Mr.  Adams  in  the 
matter  at  all.  If  the  girls  were  agreed  I  should 
know  very  well  what  course  to  pursue." 

Clifford  sat  for  a  minute  watching  the  clouded 
face  before  him  and  could  not  help  acknowledging 
that  by  all  external  signs  the  matter  was  troubling 
his  friend  very  much  indeed. 

"  If  it  is  only  a  question  of  pleasing  the  young 
ladies,"  he  said,  finally,  "the  solution  to  your  prob- 
lem is  not  so  difficult.  Take  the  side  of  the  one  for 
whom  you  care  the  most." 

He  trembled  inwardly  when  he  had  made  this 
proposition,  for  he  dreaded  to  hear  Gerald  say  \hat 
this  course  would  compel  him  to  adopt  Edith's 
proposal. 

''You  do  not  understand  my  feelings  toward  these 
girls,"  replied  Gerald.  "  I  care  just  as  much  for  one 


••WHY,    TOT   LOVE    THEM   BOTH."  7t 

of  them  as  the  other.  There  is  absolutely  not  the 
slightest  difference." 

Clifford  determined  to  push  the  questioning  now 
that  the  time  seemed  so  opportune. 

"  This  cannot  go  on  forever,  my  dear  boy,"  said 
he.  "  The  time  must  come  when  you  will  have  to 
choose  between  them." 


Gerald  looked  at  his  friend,  comprehended  his 
meaning,  and  turned  a  fiery  red. 

"  No,  no  !  It  is  nothing  of  that  kind  !"  he  ex» 
claimed.  "  We  are  friends  —  only  friends  —  that  is  all, 
indeed  it  is  !" 

"Have  a  little  sense,  Gerald,"  replied  Clifford, 
earnestly.  "  You  were  all  children  once,  but  you 
are  so  no  longer.  You  are  now  twenty-one  and  they 
are  each  eighteen.  You  are  a  man,  and  they  are 
women.  If  you  look  into  that  heart  of  your?  you 
will  find  that  you  entertain  a  deeper  passion  for  one 
of  them,  and  it  is  something  of  which  you  have  no 
need  to  be  ashamed,  either." 

Gerald  protested,  still  with  the  reddest  of  counten- 
ances, that  it  was  not  true,  that  Clifford  did  not 
understand  his  feelings  at  all,  and  that  nothing  lik<* 
love  had  ever  entered  into  his  sentiments  toward 
either  of  these  girls  or  from  either  of  them  toward 
him.  They  were  only  friends  of  a  very  close  kindf 
companions,  —  brother  and  sister,  —  nothing  more,  lie 
assured  him.  But  Clifford  would  not  be  convinced 

"  Let  me  put  a  few  tests  to  you,"  said  he.  "  Would 
you  like  to  know  that  some  man  had  gained  Alma 
Adam's  promise  to  marry  him  ?" 

The  color  left  Gerald's  face. 

"  No  I  "  he  cried  in  pain. 


T4  THE    QABSTON   BIGAMY. 

"  Or  that  Edith  Staples—" 

'    "I  beg  you — say  no  more  /"  cried  the  young 
man,  excitedly. 

Clifford  felt  his  heart  chilling. 

"  Why,  you  love  them  both  !  "  he  ejaculated. 
"Instead  of  caring  for  them  merely  as  friends,  you 
love  them  both  !  " 

Knowing  nothing  of  the  sentiment  that  had  devel- 
oped in  Nelson's  mind  in  regard  to  Edith,  Gerald 
thought  only  of  his  own  state,  so  suddenly  and  vio- 
lently revealed  to  him. 

"  God  help  me ! "  he  said,  with  shaking  voice, 
"lam  afraid  I  do!" 

The  listener  could  not  help  being  affected  by  the 
despair  in  the  tones  of  the  speaker,  and  there  was 
little  in  the  situation  to  encourage  his  own  hope. 
But  he  strove  manfully  to  do  the  right  thing. 

"Don't  be  so    downhearted,"  he  said,   tenderly. 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  that  you  have  discovered  this 
in  time.  You  know  that  there  must  be  a  choice 
sometime,  and  you  will  gain  the  strength  to 
make  it." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

EXAMINING  THE  SUMMER-HOUSE. 

It  is  not  easy  to  permanently  depress  the  heart  of 
a  healthy  young  man  of  twenty-one.  The  very  force 
of  the  feelings  which  overpowered  Gerald  made  it 
the  easier  for  him  to  recover  from  his  despondency. 
He  had  found  no  way  out  to  his  dilemma,  but  he 
had  gained  courage  to  await  the  issue.  It  was  some- 


BXAMININ3   THE    SUMMER-HOUSE.  75 

thing  to  have  Clifford  there.  If  his  college  chum 
could  not  invent  a  way  to  help  him,  it  would  at  least 
show  that  other  heads  were  no  wiser  than  his  own. 

"  Confound  Adams  and  his  mill .' "  he  burst  out 
the  next  day,  when  they  were  talking  about  it.  "  I 
don't  care  a  fig  for  anything  in  this  matter  except 
the  disagreeableness  of  having  to  disappoint  one  of 
the  girls.  I  wonder  how  they  came  to  take  such  an 
interest  in  the  question.  It  is  not  at  all  like  them, 
and  there  was  no  reason  why  they  should  trouble 
themselves  with  a  matter  that  belongs  exclusively  to 
men.  Of  course  it  was  the  natural  sweetness  of  her 
sunny  disposition  that  made  Edith  protest  against 
anything  like  a  quarrel,  but  she  need  not  have  been 
so  set  about  it.  And  Alma,  too.  She  ought  to  think 
that  her  father  may  have  an  idea  or  two  of  his  own 
worth  considering." 

Mr.  Adams  had  sent  word  that  he  would  like  to 
have  Clifford  inspect  his  mill  with  him,  and  when 
he  had  gone  on  that  errand  Gerald  walked  up  the 
road  toward  the  village  and  met  Alma  and  Edith 
coming  toward  him,  with  their  arms  around  each 
other's  waists.  How  bright  and  happy  they  both 
seemed  !  How  much  brighter  grew  the  expression 
in  their  faces  when  they  saw  that  he  was  near  them  ! 
Had  he  not  passed  half  the  night  in  lamenting  ths 
condition  of  things  it  would  have  made  him  down- 
hearted to  note  this,  but  he  had  nerved  himself  fof 
something  better. 

"We  are  going  to  Alma's,"  said  Edith,  as  soon  at 
he  reached  them.  "Won't  you  come  back  with  us  ?  " 

'  I  am  going  to  the  post-office,"  he  answered, 
"but  I  shall  be  back  before  long.  I  wish,"  he  added, 
"  that  you  would  come  to  some  compromise  in  th» 


76  THK   GAR8TON   BIGAMY. 

matter  of  the  mill-stream  damages.  I  should  like 
to  please  you  both.  Otherwise" — here  he  drew 
himself  up  and  tried  to  assume  an  air  of  importance 
— '•  I  shall  have  to  decide  against  one  of  you.'"' 

The  girls  stood  before  him,  with  their  hands 
clasped  together,  and  he  thought  neither  had  ever 
looked  so  lovely  as  at  that  moment. 

"Whichever  way  you  decide,"  said  Edith  gently, 
"  be  sure  not  to  imperil  that  neighborly  good  feel- 
ing that  ought  to  reign  between  people  who  own 
adjacent  estates.  Leave  no  bitterness  to  work  out 
revenges,  no  one  knows  to  what  extent,  when  years 
of  real  or  fancied  wrong  have  passed." 

"And  be  sure,"  said  Alma,  "  that  you  do  not 
assist  in  the  swindling  of  one  of  the  fairest  of  men, 
by  those  to  whom  he  has  already  paid  more  than 
their  just  deserts.  Do  not  come  to  a  decision  that 
will  prevent  others  from  bringing  improvements 
here,  to  raise  the  price  of  every  bushel  of  grain 
grown  in  this  section." 

The  girls  had  drawn  nearer  together  as  they  spoke, 
and  one  of  them  now  rested  her  cheek  against  that 
of  the  other. 

"  The  thing  must  be  settled  somewhere,"  he  said, 
desperately,  "  either  in  court  or  out  of  it." 

•'  Yes,"  said  Alma.  "  But  I  should  think  more  of 
a  man  who  was  robbed  by  highwaymen  after  the  most 
desperate  resistance  than  one  who  handed  them  his 
purse  at  the  first  bidding." 

"  My  father  gave  orders  to  his  servants  many  years 
ago,"  said  Edith,  "  to  give  a  meal  to  every  beggar 
who  asked  for  it.  He  said  there  might  be  one 
deserving  applicant  in  a  hundred,  and  that  he  would 


THE   SUMMER-IIOUSK.  77 

rrefer  to  feed  the  ninety-nine  to  refusing  the  hun- 
dredth man." 

Gerald  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  despair. 

"All  this  does  not  help  me  any  !"  he  protested, 
u  If  two  girls  like  you,  who  love  each  other  with  the 
devotion  of  sisters,  cannot  agree  on  the  matter,  how 
can  you  wonder  that  a  dozen  farmers,  with  no  tie 
of  friendship  in  particular,  have  no  better  success  ?" 

"  But  the  case  you  are  trying  to  decide  is  merely 
one  of  common  business.  These  men  do  not  wish 
anything  of  my  father  but  his  money.  There  is 
nothing  concerned  but  dollars  and  cents." 

This  from  Alma,  with  the  clearest  of  counten- 
ances. 

"  There  is  a  little  more  than  that,  it  seems  to  me, 
Alma,  dear,"  said  Edith.  "  There  is  a  difference  of 
judgment  as  to  whether  money  is  due.  Would  it 
not  be  better  to  reconcile  those  differences  out  of 
court,  if  possible  ?" 

"What  are  courts  for?"  responded  the  other. 
"  When  it  gets  there  a  jury  of  twelve  men  will  hear 
the  evidence,  perhaps  inspect  the  premises,  and 
aided  by  the  advice  of  the  judge,  will  render  a  de- 
cision. I  do  not  see  how  there  can  be  a  fairer  way. 
There  would  be  nothing  disgraceful  in  paying  an 
amount  so  estimated,  while  there  is  something  very 
like  submitting  to  blackmail  in  paying  anything 
now." 

They  might  have  talked  till  doomsday  in  this 
rein  and  never  have  been  any  nearer  to  reconciling 
their  views.  Feeling  that  this  was  true,  Gerald 
turned  the  conversation. 

"Cliff  Nelson  came  last  night,"  said  he.  '  He  k 
•laying  at  my  house." 


78  THE   GAR8TON   BIGAMY. 

Neither  seemed  to  take  special  interest  in  this  bit 
of  news,  in  itself,  but  Edith  evidently  voiced  the 
double  regret  when  she  said  : 

"  We  shall  see  less  than  ever  of  you  now,  I 
fear." 

"  Than  ever  ?"  he  repeated,  with  a  smile.  "  You 
see  me  every  day,  and  you  will  continue  to  do  so. 
The  only  difference  will  be  that  I  shall  sometime 
bring  Cliff  with  me.  I  am  glad  he  is  here,  as  we  are 
to  study  law  together  and  shall  be  of  assistance 
to  each  other.  I  might  get  him  to  help  me  in  the 
mill  case,"  he  added,  as  if  the  thought  had  just 
occurred  to  him. 

Neither  of  the  girls  made  any  response.  They 
wanted  him  to  decide  for  himself,  and  each  was 
confident  that  he  would  see  the  right  as  she  saw  it  if 
he  only  gave  it  thought  enough.  They  did  not 
fancy  having  a  new  element  brought  in.  Which- 
ever way  an  umpire  might  decide  it  would  be 
against  one  of  them,  and  neither  liked  to  risk  that. 

On  his  way  back  from  the  village  Gerald  met 
Clifford,  who  had  just  finished  his  visit  to  the  mill, 
and  as  they  passed  the  Adams'  gate  the  girls  came 
down  to  the  road,  having  espied  them  from  their 
perch  on  the  veranda.  They  exchanged  greetings 
with  Clifford  in  a  quiet  way.  Gerald  wanted  to  talk 
longer  with  Alma,  thinking  that  if  he  could  get  her 
to  surrender  a  little  of  her  position  his  task  would 
be  easier,  and  he  proposed  a  walk  through  the 
woods.  The  girls  assented  and  Clifford  found  him- 
self where  he  most  wanted  to  be,  by  the  side  of  Miss 
Staples. 

It  was  a  delightful  afternoon.  The  warmth  of 
July  was  tempered  by  a  westerly  breeze  and  the  sun 


EXAMINING    THE    STTKMER- HOUSE,  79 

was  shaded  by  masses  of  white  clouds,  which  dis- 
persed the  severest  of  its  rays.  The  paths  through 
the  Wood  led  through  pleasant  nooks,  and  across 
little  bridges  built  since  the  days  when  Gerald  had 
carried  Edith  in  his  arms  over  the  fords.  Mr. 
Adams  was  the  owner  of  this  piece  of  ground,  and 
though  he  had  left  it  open  to  the  common  use  of 
the  people  of  Jefferson,  he  had  expended  considera- 
ble money  in  beautifying  it.  There  was  quite  a 
large  lake  in  the  interior,  where  he  had  built  a  boat 
landing,  a  bath  house  with  a  dozen  compartments, 
most  of  which  were  free  to  any  one  who  de- 
sired to  use  them,  and  other  appurtenances  that 
increased  the  value  of  the  water  as  a  means  of  recrea- 
tion. Scattered  through  the  wood  were  a  number 
of  arbors,  built  in  the  most  rustic  fashion  and  en- 
shrouded by  heavy  masses  of  vines.  A  cottage 
arranged  for  the  occupancy  of  himself  and  family 
during  any  part  of  the  heated  season,  was  the  most 
elaborate  structure  there,  and  this  was  surrounded 
by  an  enclosure  of  a  half  acre  or  so,  shut  in  by  a  high 
board  fence,  to  ensure  seclusion.  This  summer 
house,  which  the  Adams  family  had  occupied  a  good 
deal  during  the  first  two  or  three  years  after  it  was 
erected,  was  now  used  only  for  an  occasional  night 
when  the  mercury  took  a  specially  high  range. 

Clifford  purposely  loitered,  so  as  not  to  keep  within 
too  easy  sound  of  the  voices  of  his  friend  and  Alma, 
and  Edith  courteously  responded  to  all  of  the  com- 
monplaces which  he  thought  it  the  part  of  good 
breeding  to  utter.  Presently,  however,  he  branched 
into  the  subject  that  most  interested  him. 

"Gerald  has  been  telling  me  about  the  mill- 
stream  dispute." 


80  THE   GAKSTON   BIGAMY. 

"  Ah  ?"  she  replied,  waiting  for  him  to  proceed. 

"  It  is  a  curious  case,"  he  went  on.  "  His  only 
difficulty  is  his  dislike  to  come  to  any  decision  that 
will  be  disagreeable  either  to  you  or  Miss  Adams." 

She  waited  a  moment  and  then  said  that  he  must, 
for  all  that,  come  to  some  decision,  sooner  or  later. 

"Yes,  so  I  have  told  him.  And  I  have  said 
further  that  I  wholly  agree  with  you,  Miss  Staples, 
in  the  view  that  you  have  taken." 

He  had  a  notion  that  she  would  show  gratifica- 
tion, perhaps  overwhelm  him  with  thanks,  and  he 
was  ready  to  disclaim  any  credit  for  merely  advo- 
cating what  he  thought  right.  But  to  his  surprise 
she  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  If  she  was  pleased 
there  was  nothing  in  her  countenance  to  indicate  it. 
He  fancied  that  he  could,  on  the  contrary,  detect 
dissatisfaction  with  the  information  he  had  given 
her.  and  he  began  to  wonder  if  he  had  committed  an 
error. 

"He  asked  me  my  opinion,"  pursued  Clifford, 
groping  blindly  in  the  direction  where  he  supposed 
there  might  be  light,  "  and  as  a  friend  I  could  not 
refuse  to  give  it  to  him.  Now,  could  I  ?"  he  asked, 
thinking  she  ought  to  say  something  to  guide  him 
before  he  had  gone  much  farther. 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  He  asked  me  what  /  should  do  in  a  case  like 
this,  which  he  outlined.  I  said  I  should  try  to  effect 
a  settlement  outside  of  the  courthouse,  and  if  that 
failed  I  should,  of  course,  go  to  a  jury  and  leave  it 
with  them  ;  but  I  should  try  the  pacification  plan 
first.  I  hope  you  do  not  think  I  was  wrong  in 
giving  that  advice." 

"  By  no  means." 


EXAMINING   THE   SUMMER-HOUSE.  81 

He  thought  that  she  showed  an  extraordinary 
lack  of  enthusiasm,  notwithstanding  her  apparent 
agreement  with  him  in  the  course  he  had  pursued. 
And  he  determined  to  see  if  he  could  not  say  some- 
thing to  arouse  her  from  the  lethargy  into  which 
she  had  fallen. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  succeeded  in  making  Ger- 
ald's duty  clear  to  him,"  he  said.  "  He  was  still 
uncertain  what  he  should  do  when  we  finished  our 
talk.  But  I  gave  him  another  suggestion,  which 
may  assist  him  when  he  has  thought  about  it  suffi- 
ciently. I  told  him  that  where  one  wanted  to 
please  two  people  the  only  way  was  to  try  and 
please  the  one  he  liked  best." 

He  was  alarmed  at  his  own  temerty,  when  he 
had  uttered  the  words,  but  she  did  not  give  any 
sign  of  attaching  any  particular  stress  to  them. 
Gerald  was  with  Alma,  some  rods  in  advance,  and 
Clifford  knew  hat  for  this  moment  at  least  his 
friend  was  under  the  spell  of  her  fascination. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  proposition  ?"  he 
asked,  as  she  did  not  reply. 

"  I  can  see  but  one  way  to  decide  anything," 
responded  Edith  "  and  that  is  by  the  guidance  of 
one's  conscience.  I  think  Gerald  will  decide  that 
way,  and  whichever  course  he  takes  I  shall  be 
satisfied." 

He  could  see  that  the  couple  in  advance  had 
paused  and  were  waiting  for  them,  and  he  quick* 
ened  his  steps. 

"  You  have  never  been  into  the  summer-house,  I 
believe  ?"  said  Gerald  to  Clifford.  "  Alma  has  the 
keys  with  her,  and  we  will  inspect  the  place  if  you 
wish." 


8J  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMT. 

Clifford  said  he  should  like  it  very  much  and  tfie 
party  proceeded  to  the  main  gate  of  tie  enclosure, 
which  was  fastened  by  a  padlock,  a  little  rusty 
from  exposure  to  the  weather.  She  tried  to  turn 
the  key,  but  it  stuck  in  the  lock  and  Clifford  took 
the  task  upon  himself,  with  better  results.  Once 
inside  the  grounds  he  expressed  his  admiration  for 
everything  in  no  stinted  terms. 

There  was  nothing  very  elaborate  or  expensive, 
either  in  the  summer-house  or  its  adornments,  but 
he  had  not  expected  so  much  comfort  and  taste  as 
was  everywhere  displayed.  It  was  a  perfect  bijou 
of  a  place,  arranged  under  the  personal  supervision 
of  Mrs.  Adams,  and  bore  a  certain  resemblance  to 
the  southern  type  of  similar  edifices  which  she  had 
known  in  her  childhood.  There  was  everywhere  an 
air  of  refreshing  coolness,  and  Clifford  thought  he 
had  never  seen  a  place  more  inviting  to  rest  and 
comfort  during  the  season  for  which  it  was  designed. 
The  house  was  quite  extensive,  having  not  less  than 
twelve  rooms,  and  the  kitchen  was  placed  in  the 
smallest  building  at  a  little  distance,  in  which  were 
also  quarters  for  servants. 

"It  is  delightful!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  is  it 
that  you  have  not  already  put  it  to  use  this  year  ?" 

"  Mamma  is  not  as  well  as  she  used  to  be,"  ex- 
plained Alma,  "and  we  have  not  occupied  it  much 
for  several  seasons.  I  must  send  Mary  Carson  down 
and  have  it  put  in  order.  We  generally  have  a  few 
lunches  here  some  time  in  the  summer,  and  father 
and  I  have  usually  slept  here  some  of  the  warmest 
nights." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Cliff,"  said  Gerald,  "  this  would 
be  just  the  place  for  us  to  come  and  study  in,  while 


EXAMINING   THE   SUMMER-HOU8B.  83 

Mr.  Adams'  family  is  not  using  it.     I  am  going  to 
inquire  what  price  he  will  ask.". 
j      Alma  laughed  at  the  word  "price." 

"  You  need  not  go  to  father  for  that,"  she  said. 
"  I  will  give  you  the  key,  as  soon  as  the  house  is  in 
order,  and  you  can  come  here  all  you  like.  If  we 
happen  to  want  it  for  a  day  or  two  I  can  let  you 
know." 

"  And  the  expense,"  put  in  Clifford,  not  contented 
for  long  unless  he  could  make  some  allusion  to  the 
subject  on  his  mind,  "  Gerald  can  deduct  from  the  bill 
when  he  has  arranged  terms  with  the  abuttors  on 
the  mill-stream." 

Gerald  looked  annoyed.  Alma  and  Edith  turned 
to  examine  one  of  the  windows,  where  there  was  a 
pane  of  broken  glass  for  which  they  could  not  ac- 
count. Clifford  saw  that  he  had  "put  his  foot  in  it," 
but  he  did  not  know  how  to  extricate  it. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  all  my  idea  of  the  way  to  arrange 
this  thing,"  said  he,  and  the  girls  assumed  an,  air  of 
attention.  "  I  will  propose  to  Mr.  Adams  to  go  with 
Gerald  and  talk  with  these  men — sound  them,  as  the 
saying  is.  It  will  do  no  harm  for  us  to  go  and  see 
them,  in  a  sort  of  unofficial  way,  and  report  how  we 
find  things.  If  they  are  tractable,  I  should  say  set- 
tle. If  they  are  bound  to  fight,  then  the  blame  will 
be  on  them." 

Gerald  looked  at  the  girls  to  see  what  reply  they 
had  to  make  to  this  proposal,  which  commended  it- 
self to  him  for  two  reasons.  It  seemed  to  show  a 
way  to  solve  the  difficulty,  by  conceding  a  little  to 
each  side ;  and  it  gave  him  a  companion  on  his 
errand,  which  he  very  much  wanted  to  have.  Nei- 


84  THE    GAKSTON   BIOAMT. 

ther  of  the  girls  spoke  for  a  moment,  and  then  it  was 
Edith  who  broke  silence. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  addressing  her  remark  to  Alma, 
"that  we  had  best  leave  further  discussion  of  this 
affair  to  the  gentlemen.  You  have  a  strong  opinion 
as  to  which  way  is  right.  I  have  one  equally  strong. 
I  am  willing  to  allow  them  to  go  on  uninfluenced — 
so  far  as  I  might  have  any  influence — by  any  further 
argument  of  mine." 

Alma  assented  to  the  proposition. 

"You  know  what  I  think,"  she  said  to  Gerald,  "  as 
well  as  if  I  were  to  repeat  it  a  thousand  times.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  adopt  Edith's  idea,  and  drop  the 
matter  from  our  conversations  hereafter." 

Clifford  thought  they  had  dropped  him  along  with 
their  discussions,  for  he  did  not  seem  to  enter  into 
their  considerations  at  all.  His  vanity  was  hurt,  for 
he  was  accustomed  to  a  good  deal  of  deference  in 
the  society  which  he  met  at  home,  being  a  young 
gentleman  of  family  and  fortune,  whom  most  people 
of  his  circle  thought  it  worth  while  to  cultivate. 
Gerald  looked  from  one  of  the  girls  to  the  other, 
with  the  feeling  of  a  man  deserted  on  a  lonely  island 
by  those  whom  he  has  esteemed  his  friends,  and  who 
sees  them  pulling  at  the  oars  which  take  their  boats 
further  and  further  from  him.  He  saw  no  feasible 
way  to  escape,  however,  and  tried  to  think  that  the 
new  aspect  of  affairs  had  its  advantages.  He 
changed  to  Edith's  side,  as  the  party  strolled  home- 
ward, leaving  Alma  to  Clifford  from  a  notion  of  pro- 
priety, but  none  of  them  managed  to  get  into  a  very 
fay  mood  before  parting. 

**  I've  got  to  rely  on  you  now.  old  boy,"  said  G«r- 


A  TRIP  UP  TTf  E  RITBB.  99 

aid,  when  they  were  in  their  room  at  his  father's. 

'*  If  you  desert  me  I  am  ruined." 

"I  shall  not  desert  you,"  replied  Clifford.  "But 
we  must  go  about  this  thing  without  another  days 
delay.  We  must  have  a  talk  with  Mr.  Adams  early 
in  the  morning  and  start  off  before  noon." 

To  Gerald  this  seemed  like  hurrying  matters,  but 
his  friend  was  inexorable. 

*'  If  it's  to  be  done,  let's  get  it  out  of  the  way," 
said  he.  "  Time  enough  has  been  wasted  already/* 

"Alma  will  be  much  disappointed,"  mused  Gerald. 

"  And  Edith  proportionately  gratified,"  replied  his 
friend,  watching  him  narrowly. 

"  And  I  wanted  so  much  to  please  both  !  " 

"That  has  been  proved  impossible.  Now  you 
must  choose,  as  I  told  you  yesterday." 

Gerald  looked  up  oddly. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  want  to  choose  that  way  P  ** 
he  inquired. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  TRIP  UP   THE   RIVER, 

Clifford  led  off  in  the  conversation  with  Mr.  Adams 
the  next  morning.  He  led  off,  also,  in  securing  a 
horse  and  wagon  with  which  to  make  the  trip  up 
stream,  for  it  was  necessary  to  follow  a  country  road 
which  led  to  most  of  the  farmers'  houses,  and  it 
seemed  useless  to  make  so  much  of  a  journey  o« 
foot  Gerald  was  dispirited  when  he  found  that  the 


86  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMY. 

die  was  actually  cast,  and  could  think  of  nothing  but 
the  objections  that  Alma  had  raised  He  would 
have  given  anything  in  reason  to  have  got  out  of  the 
whole  matter  with  credit,  and  wished  heartily  that 
Mr.  Adams  had  never  thought  of  his  name  in  connec- 
tion with  his  tangled  affairs. 

His  companion,  on  the  other  hand,  had  concluded 
that  there  might  be  something  of  credit  to  himself 
in  a  settlement  of  the  case.  Although  Edith  had 
rece-ived  with  such  coolness  his  announcement  of  his 
intention  to  join  in  it,  he  knew  that  he  was  doing 
what  she  wanted  done.  Every  hour  that  passed 
found  him  with  a  greater  affection  for  the  fair  girl 
than  the  preceding.  He  saw  that  his  progress  in  her 
good  graces  must  be  very  slow,  but  he  was  willing 
to  wait.  At  present  her  whole  heart  appeared  to  be 
fixed  on  Gerald.  That  young  gentleman's,  however, 
seemed  to  Clifford  to  be  inclined  a  little  stronger 
toward  Alma,  and  this  gave  him  hope.  He  had 
chosen  Alma  on  the  day  preceding  for  his  walk  to 
the  woods,  and  he  had  substituted  Edith  for  her  on 
the  homeward  walk,  more  apparently  from  motives 
of  policy  than  from  an  inclination  to  abandon  his 
partner.  He  talked  of  nothing  this  morning  but  the 
disagreeable  effect  this  errand  would  have  on  Alma, 
Clifford  was  quite  encouraged  at  the  prospects,  take 
them  all  in  all,  as  he  and  Gerald  rode  out  of  Jeffer- 
son. 

Gerald  agreed  readily  to  let  Clifford  do  most  of 
the  talking,  and  the  young  man  acquitted  himself 
with  distinction  at  the  first  house  they  called  at. 
The  owner  was  a  man  named  Estes,  who  had  suffered 
the  largest  injury,  if  there  was  any,  from  the  over- 
flowing of  the  reservoir  and  brook.  He  seemed  to 


A  TRIP  UP  THE  RIVER,  87 

be  a  good-natured  fellow,  and  readily  consented  to 
leave  his  work  and  go  over  the  ground  with  his 
callers. 

"  It's  all  dry  enough  now,"  he  said,  as  they  reached 
the  vicinity  of  the  alleged  flooding,  "  but  you  ought 
to  have  seen  it  in  April.  I  couldn't  put  in  a  plow 
there  for  a  month  after  I  had  the  rest  of  the  farm 
finished.  All  that  big  piece  that  is  covered  with  late 
crops  was  as  wet  as  a  sponge.  The  banks  of  the 
brook  are  low  in  spots  all  along  its  course,  and  the 
jeast  rise  raises  the  deuce." 

"  How  long  have  you  had  the  place  ?"  asked  Clif- 
ford. 

"  I  took  it  up  the  same  year  he  did." 
The  "  he"  referred  evidently  to  Mr.  Adams. 
"  Did  it  never  overflow  before  he  built  his  dam  ?" 
"  Well,"  leaning  heavily  on  one  leg.     "  I  wouldn't 
want  to  say  never  ;  not  every  year,  as  it  does  now, 
I'll  be  bound." 

"  It  has  overflowed  each  year  since  then,  has  it  T 
"  Yes,  sir,  every  one,  and  I've  got  proof  of  it." 
"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Estes,"  said  Clifford,  "  but  why 
did  you  not  seek  damages  sooner  ?" 

Mr.  Estes  shifted  his  weight  to  the  other  leg. 
"The  fact  is,"  he  answered,  "that  I  wanted  to  be 
neighborly  and  not  trouble  any  one  if  I  could  help  it. 
I  spoke  to  Alvah — "  everybody  in  Jefferson  seemed 
privileged  to  call  Mr.  Adams  by  his  first  name— 
"and  we  had  some  talk  about  it.  But  time  has 
gone  on  and  it  has  kept  doing  me  harm,  and  he  has 
made  a  good  deal  of  money  out  of  the  mill,  and  I 
think  he  ought  to  make  it  right.  That  is  about  all 
there  is  to  it." 


86  TOR    GAR8TON    BTOAMT, 

Clifford  walked  around  a  little,  trying  to  assume 
an  air  of  wisdom. 

*  Do  you  think  there  is  less  profit  in  the  crop  you 
have  there  on  that  piece  than  in  the  grain  beyond 
it  ?"  he  ventured. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  there  is.  It  takes  a  good 
deal  more  work  to  raise  it  than  it  does  corn  or  wheat, 
but  it  brings  more  in  the  fall.  That  ain't  the  thing, 
though.  I  contend  that  no  man  has  a  right  to  run 
water  over  my  land  without  he  pays  me  for  the  priv- 
ilege. It  ain't  for  Alvah  Adams  to  say  that  I  must 
raise  this  crop  or  that  crop." 

Clifford  pretended  to  side  with  the  farmer  in  his 
last  statement,  thinking  that  this  was  the  best  policy, 
and  inquired  off-hand  how  much  he  thought  would 
make  him  "  square." 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,"  said  Mr.  Estes.  "  I  only 
want  what's  right." 

a  He  paid  you  something  for  the  privilege  of  using 
the  brook,  didn't  he  ?" 

"  He  gave  me  two  hundred  dollars  for  a  writing 
that  I  would  never  use  it  myself  for  power,  or  do  any. 
thing  to  its  waters  except  take  water  for  my  cattle  and 
the  house.  If  it  wasn't  for  that  writing  I  could  put 
up  a  mill  as  well  as  he,  and  I  don't  know  as  it  would 
hurt  his  power  if  I  did.  His  idea  was,  I  suppose, 
that  he  didn't  want  any  other  mill  in  the  valley,  and 
he  came  along  when  I  was  short  of  money  and 
bought  me  out  at  his  own  price." 

**  Just  as  everybody  else  does  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness," commented  Clifford.  "Now,  Mr.  Estes,  you 
are  an  honest  and  a  sensible  man,  and  you  think  Mr. 
Adams  owes  you  something.  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  how  much  your  claim  is,  as  I  would  like  to  have 


A  TRIP  UP  THE   RIVER. 

him  settle  these  matters  in  a  friendly  way  with  his 
old  neighbors,  if  I  can." 

Mr.  Estes  shifted  his  weight  again. 

"  I've  put  in  a  claim  for  a  thousand,"  he  said. 

"You  might  just  as  easily  have  made  it  ten," 
replied  Clifford, "  the  question  is,  what  amount  would 
recompense  you  ?  You  don't  want,  if  I  understand 
you  correctly,  anything  but  what  is  right.  How 
much  cash  in  your  hand,  between  now  and  the  first 
day  of  August,  would  satisfy  you  to  execute  a  quit 
claim." 

Mr.  Estes  put  his  hands  as  far  down  into  his 
breeches  pockets  as  they  would  go. 

"You  see,  Mr. — I  believe  you  didn't  tell  me  your 
name — " 

"  Mr.  Nelson." 

"You  see,  Mr.  Nelson,  we  have  made  an  agree- 
ment, we  farmers  along  the  brook,  not  to  settle  unless 
we  can  all  settle  together.  We  put  our  names  to  a 
paper  that  Lawyer  Cass  drew  up.  I'm  willing,  and 
I've  always  been  willing,  to  do  the  fair  thing.  Alvah 
could  have  settled  with  me  almost  any  way  if  he  had 
talked  right  when  I  first  went  to  him.  He  kept  say 
ing  that  he  had  paid  me  once,  and  that  he  didn't 
think  I  ought  to  ask  any  more,  and  I  got  tired  of  it. 
But  now  I  shall  have  to  abide  by  the  sense  of  the 
others.  If  he's  got  any  proposal  to  make,  we'll  get 
together  and  hear  it,  and  I  won't  be  the  off  horse, 
neither." 

Here  was  an  unexpected  obstacle.  Clifford  had 
hoped  to  arrange  matters  with  the  complainants,  one 
by  one,  and  now  he  met  a  much  more  formidable 
opposition.  The  farmers  were  to  be  coached  by  a 
lawyer,  and  no  doubt  a  shrewd  one,  who  would  urge 


90  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMY. 

them  to  get  every  dollar  they  could  squeeze  out  of 
the  mill-owner. 

"Mr.  Adams  doesn't  admit  that  he  owes  you  any- 
thing," he  said,  "but  for  the  sake  of  good  feeling  and 
old  acquaintance  he  is  willing  to  make  an  allowance 
for  the  fact  that  you  hold  a  contrary  view.  He  has 
no  proposition  to  make,  but  if  he  could  get  reasona- 
ble— or  half  reasonable — figures  from  you  all,  he 
would  prefer  to  draw  his  checks  for  a  small  amount 
rather  than  have  you  spend  your  money  at  law.  I 
am  going  to  see  the  others  and  talk  it  over  with 
them,  and  I  hope  you  will  get  together  and  conclude 
that  it  is  better  to  come  to  some  agreement  in  a 
friendly  spirit  than  to  put  a  lot  of  your  money  into 
the  pocket  of  an  outsider." 

Mr.  Estes  dusted  a  piece  of  earth  from  his  coat. 

"You're  going  to  make  the  same  mistake  that 
Alvah  did,"  he  replied.  "  If  you  go  up  the  road  tell- 
ing the  farmers  that  he  don't  claim  to  owe  them  any- 
thing,  you  might  as  well  stay  at  home.  They  know 
that  he  does  owe  them  something,  and  their  lawyer 
guarantees  that  he'll  get  it  out  of  him  if  they  go  to  a 
jury." 

"  I  am  only  giving  you  all  a  chance  to  avoid  taking 
that  risk,"  said  Clifford,  pleasantly.  "'  A  bird  in  the 
hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush,'  you  know." 

"Well,  you  go  and  talk  with  them,  and  when  you 
come  back,  stop  here  and  tell  me  what  they  say," 
said  Estes. 

"  And  may  I  tell  them  that  you  will  agree  to  what- 
ever the  majority  decide  ?" 

"Yes.  I  ain't  no  kicker.  But  you'll  find  them 
fellows  howling,  now  I  tell  you.  They're  mad  clean 
through,  and  that's  the  truth." 


A  TRIP    UP   THE   KIVEE.  91 

Clifford  walked  slowly  back  to  their  buggy,  with 
Gerald,  who  had  not  uttered  a  word,  and  Mr.  Estes 
accompanied  them. 

"We  shall  try  to  settle  this  thing,  but  perhaps  it 
will  please  these  men  better  if  they  hear  the  decision 
from  a  court,"  said  Nelson,  as  he  reached  the  wagon. 

"  P'raps,"  responded  Mr.  Estes,  dryly. 

When  they  were  on  their  way  again  Clifford  asked 
Gerald  what  he  thought  of  the  progress  they  were 
making. 

"  It's  a  little  like  that  of  a  crab,"  said  Gerald.  "  I 
didn't  think  the  trip  would  amount  to  anything.  It 
will  give  me  a  chance,  though,  to  say  to  Edith  that 
we  tried." 

"  But  Miss  Alma  will  think,  if  the  verdict  goes 
badly  against  her  father,  that  it  is  partly  due  to  our 
interference." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Gerald,  sadly.  "  Isn't  it  unfor- 
tunate V 

Nothing  that  he  could  say,  no  form  in  which  he 
could  put  the  query,  could  turn  Gerald  from  his 
closely  balanced  fondness  for  the  two  girls,  and  Clif- 
ford heaved  a  sigh  of  regret. 

"  It  is  indeed  unfortunate,"  he  assented,  to  hide 
his  feelings. 

"  The  only  thing  in  all  our  lives  that  ever  came 
between  us,"  exclaimed  Gerald,  "  We  have  gone  on 
as  smoothly  as  that  confounded  millpond  down  there, 
ever  since  we  were  little  bits  of  things  till  now  ,!" 

He  spoke  in  such  a  depressed  tone  that  Clifford 
was  moved  to  remark  that  there  was  nothing  very 
vital  in  it  all.  There  had  been  no  quarrel  either 
between  the  young  ladies  themselves  or  between 
either  of  them  and  Gerald. 


92  THB    GABSTOW    KOAMT. 

"  Quarrel T  echoed  Gerald,  starting  at  the  word. 
"  Quarrel  1  Why,  Cliff,  I  can  feel  each  pulsation  of 
their  hearts  !  The  slightest  regret  that  either  of  them 
experiences  cuts  me  like  a  knife.  Our  nerves  are 
interwoven.  I  read  their  thoughts  before  they  utter 
them.  There  can  be  no  quarrel  between  us  that  does 
not  end  in  death.  The  prepared  plate  of  the  camera 
is  not  so  sensitive  to  the  light  as  the  smallest  mole- 
cule of  my  brain  is  to  the  least  variation  of  theirs." 

Nelson  grew  very  sober. 

"  And  as  I  told  you,  it  must  come  to  an  end,"  he 
said. 

"But  how?"  cried  Gerald,  wildly.  "I  think  we 
are  really  one,  and  not  three,  as  we  appear  to  others. 
"  We  were  born  in  parts,  but  we  have  grown  together. 
A  blow  to  one  of  us  hurts  all." 

"  Let  me,  as  an  outsider,  tell  you  one  thing,"  said 
Clifford.  "I  have  watched  you.  While  both  Miss 
Adams  and  Miss  Staples  feel  a  great  interest  in  this 
matter,  it  does  not  affect  them  anything  like  the  way 
it  does  you." 

"You  do  not  know,"  was  the  instant  reply.  "They 
do  not  confide  in  you,  as  I  do.  Could  you  read  their 
minds,  as  I  can  ;  could  you  feel  the  depression  which 
they  experience,  sent  with  double  force  back  to  your 
own  heart,  you  would  know  that  my  agitation  is  not 
one  bit  greater  than  theirs.  It  is  not  this  thing  in 
itself  that  troubles  me  so,  but  the  dread  it  gives  me 
of  the  future.  I  did  not  know  until  you  opened  my 
eyes  how  dear  they  were  to  me.  I  have  not  been 
myself  since  this  controversy  arose,  for  it  has  taught 
me  what  suffering  I  am  capable  of  giving  by  showing 
what  pain  I  can  be  made  to  feel  !" 

Nelson  did  not  know  what  to  say.     It  was  evident 


A  TRIP   UP  THE  KIVEB.  93 

that  his  friend  felt  all  that  he  expressed  and  more, 
and  he  had  no  wish  to  add  to  his  discomfort 
Luckily  they  arrived  in  a  few  moments  at  the  resi- 
dence of  the  next  abutter  upon  the  brook,  which 
Gerald  pointed  out.  He  had  come  provided  with  a 
list  of  the  men  to  be  seen,  and  he  knew  where  they 
all  lived,  having  been  familiar  with  the  vicinity  from 
childhood.  This  man,  who  rejoiced  in  the  surname 
of  Moon,  was  even  less  satisfactory  to  talk  with  than 
Mr.  Estes.  He  did  not  care  to  discuss  the  case,  which 
he  had  left  wholly  in  the  hands  of  "his  attorney." 
He  would  not  even  consent  that  Mr.  Nelson  should 
inspect  the  place  where  the  stream  had  overflowed, 
unless  "  his  attorney  "  was  present.  He  declared  that 
he  had  been  a  big  fool  to  sell  his  rights  in  the  water 
to  Adams  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  he 
should  try  not  to  commit  a  similar  error  next  time. 

"  If  you  want  to  see  Lawyer  Cass,  you  can  go  to 
Des  Moines,"  he  said.  "  He's  got  the  whole  busi- 
ness in  his  hands  and  no  one  else  could  settle  with 
you  if  they  wanted  to.  Alvah  Adams  can't  pull  no 
wool  over  the  eyes  of  the  people  up  this  way.  He's 
got  more  money  than  we  have,  but  we've  got  jest  as 
good  a  show  in  a  court  of  justice  as  him.  A  Jeffer- 
son county  jury  will  say  whether  he  can  flood  our 
lands  as  he  likes  and  refuse  to  make  it  right." 

"  But  he  doesn't  refuse  to  make  it  right,"  protested 
Clifford.  "I  am  here  for  the  express  purpose  of 
asking  you  to  let  him  pay  whatever  he  owes  you." 

"  He  can  pay  it  to  Lawyer  Cass.  Let  him  send 
word  for  him  to  come  down  here,  and  that  he's  got 
the  money  ready,  and  enough  for  the  expenses  that 
he's  put  us  to,  and  there'll  be  no  trouble." 

Clifford  said,  with  slight  sarcasm,  that  he  had  ao 


94  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMT. 

doubt  that  was  true,  but  that  the  figures  named  in 
the  suit  were  not  reasonable  and  that  no  fair-minded 
man  would  ask  Mr.  Adams  to  settle  on  any  such 
terms.  Seeing,  however,  that  he  had  an  obstinate 
customer  to  deal  with,  he  drove  on  to  the  next  man 
whom  he  found  no  more  tractable. 

Before  he  had  completed  his  round  he  learned 
beyond  question  that  Mr.  Adams  had  disgruntled  the 
whole  of  them,  and  that  they  were,  in  the  language  of 
the  country,  "  spoiling  for  a  fight  "  with  him.  Most  of 
them  had  come  to  the  neighborhood  about  the  same 
time  as  he,  and  none  had  achieved  a  tithe  of  his 
financial  success.  This  seemed  to  them  a  favorable 
opportunity  to  "  even  up "  matters  a  little.  They 
had  sold  out  their  rights  in  the  mill-stream  at 
nominal  figures,  and  he  had  made  a  small  fortune, 
some  of  them  believed  a  large  one,  out  of  it.  Lawyer 
Cass  had  convinced  them  that  he  could  "  make  him 
sweat,"  and  they  were  quite  willing  to  assist  an 
attempt  to  excite  the  perspiration. 

A  Mr.  Crane,  one  of  the  last  men  whom  Nelson 
interviewed,  interjected  a  new  phase  into  the  con- 
troversy by  saying  to  Gerald — 

."How  does  your  father  feel  about  this,  Mr. 
Garston  ?  If  he's  ready  to  settle  easy,  he's  had  a 
great  change  come  over  him  within  a  few  days." 

'•My  father?"  repeated  Gerald,  with  a  look  of 
blank  astonishment. 

"  Sartin'ly.  When  we  had  our  last  meetin'  with 
Lawyer  Cass,  he  come  along  and  asked  if  it  was  too 
late  for  him  to  jine  in.  He  said  his  land  was  over- 
flowed as  bad  as  anybody's,  and  that  he  hadn't  sold 
no  rights  at  all  in  the  stream,  the  way  the  rest  of  us 
had.  We  was  all  surprised  to  know  that  it  run 


A  TRIP  TTP  THE  EIVE«.  0$ 

through  his  land,  but  he  said  it  did — that  it  made 
the  boundary  of  his  quarter  section  for  more'n  six 
rods.  He  said  it  was  right  along  the  edge  and 
p'raps  Alvah  hadn't  thought  that  little  distance 
counted  for  anything.  'But  it  does  count/  s^yg 
your  father,  'and  I  want  to  go  in  with  the  rejt  of 
you  on  the  suit.'  Lawyer  Cass  said  that  W34  all 
right,  that  there  was  plenty  of  time  to  hitc'ii  his 
name  on,  and  it  was  done  then  and  there.  Well, 
when  we  got  to  talkin'  you  ought  to  have  heered 
him!  I  never  thought  he  could  speak  as  f  ip  as  he 
did  !  He  was  for  takin'  the  thing  through  all  the 
courts  this  side  o'  Tophet,  an'  enterin'  a  n  appeal 
arter  that,  if  it  didn't  go  our  way.  You  don't  mean 
to  tell  me  he's  backed  down  so  soon?  Well,  I 
never !" 

Clifford  looked  at  Gerald  and  saw  that  he  was 
paler  than  he  had  been  before,  though  he  had 
appeared  like  a  sick  man  all  day,  and  he  took  it  upon 
himself  to  answer  Mr.  Crane. 

"  I  am  doing  this  for  Mr.  Adams,"  he  said,  "  and 
Gerald  has  only  come  along  to  point  out  to  me 
where  the  parties  live.  I  think  the  best  thing  to  do 
is  to  let  it  go  to  court,  as  you  all  seem  to  wish  it,  but 
I  assure  you  that  it  will  cost  you  pretty  dear.  You 
understand  farming,  Mr.  Crane,  much  better  than 
you  do  law.  But  have  it  as  you  please.  It  is  all 
the  same  to  me." 

He  turned  his  horse  about  as  he  was  speaking,  and 
drove  back  toward  Jefferson,  leaving  a  very  angry 
man  behind  him. 

"  You  didn't  know  that — about  your  father  ?"  said 
Clifford,  interrogatively,  as  soon  as  ha  had  an  oppor- 
tunity. 


tD  THB    G  ARSTON    BIGAMY* 

*  No.  It  is  a  terrible  surprise.  I  knew  that  he  and 
Mr.  Adams  have  not  been  on  the  warmest  terms  for 
a  good  while,  but  I  did  not  think  that  anything  like 
this  could  happen.  The  news  is  very  disagreeable." 

"  It  must  be.  What  was  the  origin  of  the  trouble 
between  them  ?" 

"I  never  heard.  My  father,  as  you  have  noticed, 
is  of  a  secretive  nature,  and  I  have  never  talked  with 
him  about  his  private  affairs.  I  suppose  he  will 
think  it  wrong  that  I  should  have  undertaken  this 
errand,  but  I  have  not  spoken  a  word  to  anybody, 
that  is  one  good  thing.  You  must  stand  by  me, 
Cliff,  if  he  speaks  about  it.  It  would  have  been  a  bad 
mess  if  I  had  undertaken  it  alone." 

His  friend  readily  promised  to  present  the  best 
phase  of  the  case  to  Mr.  Garston,  should  there  be 
any  need  of  it,  and  they  drove  to  Mr.  Adams'  house 
to  give  an  account  of  their  trip.  It  was  late,  and  as 
they  admitted  having  had  no  supper,  the  mill  owner 
urged  them  to  let  his  wife  "  put  a  plate  on,  "  although 
his  family  had  finished  their  meal  some  time  before. 

"Alma  is  up  to  Edith's,"  he  said,  "but  we  will  do 
our  best  to  entertain  you  in  her  absence." 

Mrs.  Adams  also  came  out  and  joined  her  entrea- 
ties to  her  husband's,  but  Gerald  declined,  saying 
that  he  must  get  home  as  early  as  possible,  for  special 
reasons. 

"  Well,  if  you  won't,  you  won't,"  smiled  Alvah. 
•*  How  did  your  journey  come  out  ?" 

"We  didn't  catch  a  fish,"  laughed  Clifford.  "I 
thought  I  would  say  just  that  much  to-night,  and  in 
the  morning  I  will  come  over  and  give  you  full  par- 
ticulars." 


A  TRIP  UP  THE  BIVER.  9 

44  I'm    not   much  disappointed,"  was  the    reply. 

"Couldn't  do  a  thing  with  them,  eh?" 

"  No,  they  are  bound  to  fight." 

"Let  them  fight,  then,"  said  Mr.  Adams.  •I'll 
give  them  fight  enough.  They'll  find  that  it's  a 
game  that  more  than  one  can  play  at.  I've  retained 
Major  Noyes,  the  smartest  lawyer  in  all  Iowa.  There 
isn't  one  of  them  damaged  a  penny,  and  they  know 
it." 

It  was  evident  that  he  was  waxing  angry  as  he 
contemplated  the  case,  and  fearing  that  he  would 
say  something  which  Gerald  might  think  reflected 
on  his  father,  though  they  both  had  reason  to  believe 
that  Adams  did  not  yet  know  he  was  in  the  list  of 
his  opponents,  Clifford  said  good-night  and  drove 
on  to  Mr.  Garston's.  Here  the  young  men  alighted, 
and  one  of  the  farm  hands  was  sent  to  the  livery 
stable  with  the  buggy. 

"  Where  did  you  go  ?'*  asked  Mr.  Garston,  as  he 
greeted  them. 

"  Up  the  river,"  said  Gerald,  feeling  a  guilty  flush 
creep  over  his  cheek  at  the  deception  of  the  incom* 
plete  answer. 

"  It's  a  nice  drive,"  said  his  father,  and  there  the 
conversation  ended.  Mr.  Garston  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  having  long  talks  with  his  son,  nor  in  fact 
with  any  one  else. 

The  young  men  ate  their  supper  silently  and  went 
up  stairs. 

"  More  and  more  trouble,"  said  Gerald  sadly,  when 
they  were  alone.  "  If  Alma's  father  and  mine  get 
into  a  regular  quarrel,  what  shall  we  do?" 

"Become  the  more  attached,  as  lovers  have  been 
since  the  creation,"  smiled  Clifford.  "And  then,  if 


08  THE    GAKSTOW    BIGAMT. 

worse  comes  to  worst,"  he  added,  with  an  effort, 
"there  is  Edith." 

"  Don't  make  a  jest  of  it,"  said  Gerald,  a  spasm 
crossing  his  brow.  "  It  is  a  serious  thing  to  me." 

"  Indeed  it's  no  joke  to  me,  either,"  thought  Clifford 
as  a  vision  of  the  girl  who  had  become  so  dear  to 
him  flashed  through  his  mind. 


CHAPTER   IX 

"YOU   MUST   FIGHT    THESE   MEN." 

When  Alvah  Adams  found  that  John  Garston  had 
joined  in  the  suit  against  him,  which  he  learned  from 
a  gossiping  villager,  several  days  after,  he  became 
struck  with  wonder,  and  then  white  with  rage.  He 
had  known  for  years  that  John  did  not  feel  cordial 
to  him,  but  had  attributed  it  to  jealousy  at  his  greater 
success,  and  had  never  dreamed  that  it  would  break 
out  into  open  hostilities.  He  had  given  John  his  only 
chance  in  life,  and  he  had  thrown  it  away  in  a  manner 
that  entitled  him  to  little  sympathy  from  anybody. 
During  the  first  years  when  they  had  been  opening  up 
their  land,  and  when  both  of  them  had  to  rise  early 
and  go  to  bed  late,  Alvah  had  lent,  a  helping  hand  to 
his  friend  in  a  hundred  ways.  He  had  advanced  him 
funds  on  many  occasions,  never  stooping  to  accept 
the  interest  which  was  tendered,  though  he  liked 
money  as  well  as  the  next  one,  and  could  have  lent 
it  to  others  of  the  townspeople  at  five  per  cent,  a 
mouth.  Even  within  a  year  of  the  present  date  ho 


**YOTT   MTT8T  FIGHT  THEBB  HEN."  99 

had  stood  between  Garston  and  his  importunate 
creditors,  without  letting  him  know  whom  his  bene- 
factor was.  He  had  done  this,  not  on  his  account, 
but  to  save  Gerald  the  mortification  of  having  to  see 
his  home  sold  under  the  hammer.  But  in  the  exas- 
perated mood  which  came  with  this  news  of  the  mill- 
stream  matter,  Alvah  remembered  nothing  but  the 
fact  that  he  had  tried  to  help  John  a  thousand  times, 
and  that  this  was  the  sort  of  repayment  which  he  had 
received. 

As  he  rode  home  he  met  Colonel  Staples,  and  ven- 
tilated his  grievance. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  after  all  I  have  done  to 
help  that  man  ?"  he  asked,  when  he  had  told  his 
story. 

The  Colonel  had  heard  of  the  matter  before,  as  it 
had  been  common  talk  for  some  days  in  the.  village, 
and  he  admitted  it,  saying  that  he  had  supposed  Mr, 
Adams  knew  about  it  all  the  time. 

"  They  say  Crane  threw  it  up  to  Gerald,  that  day 
that  he  and  young  Mr.  Nelson  went  up  to  interview 
the  others,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  But  what  does  the  fellow  mean  ?"  exclaimed 
Adams.  "  I  have  lugged  him  on  my  back,  as  you 
might  say,  ever  since  we  have  been  here  together.  I 
couldn't  make  a  man  of  sense  of  him — the  Lord  him- 
self couldn't  do  that — but  I  have  helped  him  over  the 
rough  places  and  enabled  him  to  keep  his  farm  when 
the  creditors  were  determined  to  take  it  away.  I've 
got  an  outlawed  note  of  his  now,  fifteen  years  old 
for  five  hundred  dollars,  that  he  never  intends  to  pay, 
and  that  I  never  expected  he  would  when  I  lent  him 
the  money,  I  have  let  him  have  seed,  and  tools,  and 
men,  and  given  my  word  for  him  at  the  stores,  time 


100  THE  OAESTON    BIQAMT. 

and  again.     If  he  thought  I  owed  him  anything,  why 

couldn't  he  come  and  talk  it  over  with  me,  instead  of 
joining  these  rascally  fellows  and  putting  me  to  extra 
expense  and  annoyance.  My  patience  has  about 
given  out.  If  he  persists  in  this  thing,  the  mort- 
gagees may  sell  him  out  the  next  time  he  fails  in  his 
interest,  for  all  of  me." 

Colonel  Staples  had  never  seen  Mr.  Adams  in  a 
temper  before,  and  he  was  surprised  that  he  could 
get  so  angry. 

"Garston  doesn't  know  half  of  the  kindnesses  you 
have  done  for  him,"  he  ventured  to  remark.  "  If 
some  one  were  to  go  and  tell  him  of  them,  in  a  quiet 
way — " 

"I  don't  want  them  to,"  replied  Alvah,  reddening. 
"You  know  last  summer,  when  you  told  me  that  they 
were  bound  to  advertise  his  place  for  sale  to  satisfy 
their  claims,  how  I  sent  a  third  party  to  him  with  an 
offer  of  a  second  mortgage,  so  that  he  could  pay  the 
interest,  and  that  I  furnished  the  money.  I  didn't 
want  him  to  know  it  then,  and  I  don't  now.  There 
was  no  hope  of  doing  any  more  than  staving  off  his 
troubles,  for  he  hasn't  gumption  enough  to  get  out 
of  the  net  he  has  twisted  around  his  neck,  but  I  did 
hope  he  could  get  his  boy  through  his  schooling  and 
established  in  business  before  the  stroke  came.  Now, 
I  don't  much  care  how  soon  they  take  the  farm. 
Nobody  could  expect  me  to  go  down  into  my  pocket 
again  for  a  man  who  has  turned  against  me  in  this 
way." 

The  Colonel  was  plainly  uneasy  during  this 
tirade. 

"You  might  go  and  see  him,"  he  suggested. 

M  John  Garston  will  be  a  good  deal  older  before  bt 


"TOU   MUST   FIGHT  THESE   MEN."  101 

finds  me  hunting  him  up,'  retorted  Adams.  "  The 
next  time  it  will  be  more  likely  that  he  will  hunt  me 
up.  His  interest  will  be  due  in  a  few  weeks  now 
and  we'll  see  who'll  advance  it  this  time  .'" 

The  friends  parted  and  Adams  drove  toward  his 
home.  Just  before  he  reached  his  premises  he  saw 
Garston  coming,  and  imagined  that  he  detected  a 
trace  of  malice  on  his  face.  His  inclination  was  to 
pretend  not  to  see  him,  if  he  could  get  into  his  gate 
soon  enough,  but  this  was  impossible.  Garston 
reached  the  turning  off  point  first,  and  stopped  his 
horse. 

"  Is  the  mill  running  this  morning  ?"  he  asked. 
"  I  want  to  take  over  some  grist." 

"Of  course  it's  running!"  retorted  Adams, 
unable  to  conceal  the  anger  that  filled  him.  "  Did 
you  think  a  lawsuit  for  damages  was  going  to 
stop  it  ?" 

Garston  received  this  snappish  answer  without 
moving  a  muscle  of  his  hard  face. 

"  You  know  why  it  runs,  I  suppose  ?"  he  said.  "  It 
Is  because  I  allow  my  water  to  fill  the  reservoir  that 
turns  the  wheel." 

Alvah.  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  Your  water  !"  he  replied,  with  sarcasm. 

"  Yes,  mine.  Every  drop  of  it  passes  my  land,  and  I 
can  cut  it  off  whenever  I  take  the  notion.  I  have  let 
it  run  there  for  years  in  order  to  be  friendly  and 
neighbor-like.  But  there  come  times  when  a  man 
finds  it  his  duty  to  look  out  a  little  for  himself." 

Alvah's  countenance  grew  dark. 

"About  when  do  you  think  you  will  cut  off  thit 
•upply  ?"  he  inquired,  icily. 

"  I  shall  consult  my  own  fancy  about  that." 


102  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMT. 

"  Anu  now  long  do  you  think  you  could  hold  yeuf 
land" — with  a  strong  accent  on  the '  your  ' — after  you 
had  done  it  ?" 

Garston  looked  at  him  for  an  explanation.  He 
evidently  did  not  quite  understand  his  reference. 

"It  is  as  well  to  be  plain,"  said  Auams.  "If  that 
stream  should  be  cut  in  the  bank  which  skirts  your 
farm  for  a  few  rods,  where  would  the  water  go  ? 
Why,  it  would  flood  your  wheat  fields  and  stand  two 
feet  deep  in  your  corn  and  garden  !  Allowing  that 
you  had  enough  spite  to  sacrifice  these,  your  mort- 
gagees would  hardly  be  willing  to  see  their  security 
thus  lessened.  The  Iowa  Investment  Company,  who 
hold  the  first  lien,  if  not  the  party  who  holds  the 
second,  would  foreclose  upon  you,  as  they  would 
have  a  full  right  to  do.  I  have  heard  that  you  have 
joined  in  the  suit  which  Lawyer  Cass  has  brought 
against  me.  Go  on  and  make  all  you  can,  but  don't 
imagine  that  you  have  a  fool  to  deal  with." 

Garston  heard  him  quietly. 

•  The  wheat  will  soon  be  harvested,"  he  said,  "  The 
corn  and  the  garden  crops  will  follow  in  a  few  weeks 
mere.  When  the  crops  are  out  of  the  ground  it  will 
do  no  harm  for  a  little  water  to  stand  on  it  over  the 
winter.  I  am  not  sure  but  it  would  benefit  it." 

Adams  was  driven  to  frenzy  by  this  cool  proposi- 
tion. 

"Whoever  owns  the  farm  which  you  have  been 
pleased  to  call  yours  for  so  long,  when  winter  comes," 
he  said,  "  will  not  be  likely  to  entertain  your  view  of 
what  is  good  for  wheat  and  corn.  Third  mortgages 
are  not  common  in  Iowa,  and  I  think  next  time  thr 
auctioneer  will  have  his  way." 


"YOU   MUST  SIGHT  THESE    MEN."  105 

Garston  was  as  cool,  outwardly  at  least,  as  his 
companion  was  furious. 

"  It  will  take  time  to  tell  that,"  he    replied. 

Adams  started  to  retort  again,  but  thought  better 
of  it,  and  being  in  truth  a  little  ashamed  of  the  tem- 
per he  had  already  shown,  allowed  Garston  to  depart 
without  saying  anything  more  to  him.  He  threw  the 
reins  to  a  man  who  came  forward  as  he  reached  the 
house,  and  retired  to  a  shady  corner  of  the  broad 
veranda,  where  he  could  think.  He  was  in  a  profuse 
perspiration,  partly  from  the  state  of  the  weather  and 
partly  from  the  state  of  his  mind,  and  as  he  sat  there 
he  fanned  himself  vigorously  with  his  broad  straw 
hat. 

"  I've  got  to  protect  myself,"  was  his  thought, 
"before  anything  else.  That,  I've  heard,  is  the  first 
law  of  nature.  The  interest  on  the  second  mortgage 
which  I  hold  by  proxy  will  be  due  in  a  fortnight.  If 
it  is  not  paid  I  must  take  measures  to  foreclose.  But 
it  is  probable  that  he  will  try  and  pay  that  interest, 
as  it  is  such  a  small  amount,  and  I  may  have  to  wait 
for  the  first  mortgage  owners,  the  Iowa  Investment 
Company.  If  they  sell  the  place,  I  shall  have  to  buy 
it.  Then  I  should  own  the  only  part  of  the  brook  in 
dispute,  and  be  free  of  that  danger  forever.  It's 
good  land,  as  good  naturally  as  any  of  mine.  I 
offered  to  exchange  even  with  him  once,  when  he  said 
he  thought  it  the  poorer  of  the  two,  and  after  con- 
sideration he  refused.  Yes,  I  must  get  possession 
this  time.  That  threat  of  his  compels  me." 

He  looked  through  the  vines  that  thickly  clung  to 
the  lattice  work  of  the  veranda,  and  saw  a  young 
man  coming  briskly  up  the  walk.  It  was  Gerald. 
He  walked  with  a  springing  step,  his  cheek  was  ruddy 


104  THE  GARSTON  BIGAMT. 

and  his  whole  appearance  indicated  happines*. 
Gerald  could  not  walk  toward  the  spot  where  he 
expected  to  meet  Alma  without  feeling  his  heart 
bounding  in  his  breast  and  every  pulse  astir.  The 
things  which  had  been  troubling  him  vanished  from 
his  brain  when  he  found  himself  near  her  door  and 
knew  that  the  next  moment  he  would  be  in  her  pres» 
ence. 

As  the  mill-owner  looked  at  Gerald,  a  heavy  pain 
struck  through  him.  Every  plan  that  he  could  make 
to  circumvent  the  plot  of  John  Garston  would  give 
sorrow  to  the  son.  Alvah  liked  Gerald  immensely. 
He  had  received  him  into  his  home  for  sixteen  years 
with  all  the  warmth  that  he  could  offer.  He  had 
gladly  allowed  him  the  freest  intimacy  with  his  dearly 
beloved  daughter,  and  fel*  that  their  friendship  was 
of  an  enduring  kind.  Alvah  had  never  had  a  word 
of  difference  with  Alma  in  his  life,  and  he  dreaded 
doing  anything  that  might  cause  her  to  utter  a  pro- 
test. If  there  were  open  hostilities  between  the 
fathers,  what  effect  might  it  not  have  on  the  chil- 
dren ?  He  thought  how  easy  it  would  have  been  for 
John  to  come  to  him  in  the  old  way  and  say  that  he 
was  in  trouble  for  money  and  wanted  to  be  helped 
out  again,  and  how  promptly — for  Gerald's  sake — he 
would  have  given  him  the  sum  needed.  It  was  a  very 
different  case  now.  John  held  over  him  a  threat  to 
injure  his  business  in  the  most  wanton  manner,  and 
for  no  good  whatever  to  himself.  Adams  remarked 
inwardly  that  he  was  not  a  good  man  to  threaten. 
John  would  find  that  out  before  he  was  through  with 
him.  Then  he  thought  of  Gerald  again,  and  grew 
doubtful. 

Tht  sound  of  music  came  through  the  open  win 


"YOU  MUST  TIGHT  THESE  HEN.  10$ 

dows.  The  young  couple  were  at  the  piano.  Alma's 
hands  were  chasing  the  notes  over  the  keys  and  their 
voices  blended  harmoniously  in  a  song.  He  could 
see  them  dimly  through  the  inner  shutters.  They 
acted  like  attached  friends,  not  like  lovers,  but  he 
was  glad  of  that.  It  would  be  years  before  Gerald 
would  be  in  a  position  to  take  a  bride,  and  it  was 
much  better  that  they  were  content  to  await  the 
approach  of  that  time  before  passing  the  bounds  of 
friendship.  He  knew  that  they  thought  themselves 
unobserved  at  the  present  moment,  and  that  there 
was  no  bar  on  their  perfect  freedom  of  manner 
except  the  natural  one  of  their  own  choice.  Gerald 
turned  the  leaves  of  the  printed  music,  sang  his  part 
with  her  to  the  end,  and  then  they  talked  together 
as  he  had  seen  them  do  a  hundred  times,  as  if  there 
were  nothing  in  the  world  to  disturb  the  full  current 
of  their  pleasure.  After  a  few  minutes  they  left  the 
room  and  he  heard  them  on  the  lawn  in  the  rear  of 
the  house. 

What  was  he  to  do  ?  How  could  he  reconcile  the 
protection  of  his  interests  with  the  happiness  of  this 
young  man,  whom  he  esteemed  so  highly,  and  whom 
he  expected  one  day  to  call  son  ?  It  was  no  easy 
problem,  and  he  failed  to  find  an  answer  that  satisfied 
him. 

Gerald  stayed  but  an  hour  longer,  and  Alma  came 
searching  for  her  father,  one  of  the  servants  having 
told  her  that  he  had  been  seen  to  go  out  upon  the 
veranda.  She  laughed  brightly  when  she  found 
htm,  saying  that  he  could  not  hide  like  that  from 
her,  and  asked  how  long  he  had  been  playing  dor- 
mouse. When  he  told  her  that  he  had  been  entranced 


106  THE    GAESTON    BIGAMY. 

with  the  singing  that  he  had  heard  in  the  music-room 
she  laughed  more  brightly  yet. 

"  But  you  are  sober,  papa  dear,"  she  said,  seeing 
that  he  did  not  share  her  mood.  "  I  know  what  it  is 
— those  horrible  mill-stream  fellows.  You  have  not 
been  yourself  since  they  began  to  annoy  you.  I 
would  rather  you  shut  down  the  mill  to-morrow 
than  to  have  it  make  you  so  much  trouble." 

She  put  her  arms  tenderly  about  his  neck  and  he 
thought  that  there  were  some  things  in  life  that 
made  it  worth  living. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  conclude  to  do  it,"  he  said, 
musingly. 

"  What,  papa  ?" 

"  Shut  down  the  mill,  my  pet." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that.  You  must  fight  these 
men,  as  a  matter  of  principle.  If  it  were  only  dollars 
and  cents,  that  would  be  quite  another  thing." 

He  reached  up  and  took  her  hands  in  his,  looking 
at  the  rings  she  wore.  Some  day  there  would  be 
another  there,  with  a  brilliant  stone  in  it ;  and  some 
other  day — long  might  it  be  in  coming ! — still 
another  of  plain  gold. 

"  Supposing,  pet,"  he  said,  "  that  there  should  turn 
out  some  morning  not  to  be  enough  water  in  the 
reservoir  to  run  the  mill.  Supposing  the  stream 
should  run  dry  ?" 

"  Not  much  danger  of  that,  I  guess,"  she  smiled, 
*  after  all  the  rains  we  had  this  spring." 

He  felt  so  secure,  with  those  arms  about  his  neck, 
that  he  thought  he  might  as  well  give  her  an  inkling 
of  the  truth. 

"  There  is  a  small  part  of  this  stream,  Alma,  that 
borders  the  land  of  another  man.  The  line  that 


•YOU  1CU8T  FIGHT  THESE  MEN."  107 

divides  my  estate  from  his  runs  through  the  center 
for  several  rods.  He  has  a  legal  right,  for  all  that  I 
can  see,  to  cut  through  the  bank  on  his  side  and  let 
off  the  water.  That  would  effectually  stop  the  mill- 
wheel." 

"And  spoil  his  farm  !"  she  laughed.  "He  would 
not  be  such  a  dunce,  whoever  he  is,  as  to  do  that. 
There  is  no  way  in  which  it  could  benefit  him." 

Alma  peered  over  into  her  father's  face  for  the 
light  that  she  thought  her  logic  would  bring,  but 
she  saw  that  he  did  not  think  the  matter  a  simple 
one,  and  she  left  her  place  at  the  back  of  his  chair 
and  brought  a  stool  to  his  knee. 

"  Who  is  this  man  who  has  it  in  his  power  to  make 
my  papa  so  sober  ?"  she  asked.     "  I  will  go  and  talk 
with  him,  and  show  him  how  little  pleasure  it  is  to 
cut  off  one's  nose  to  spite  his  face." 
"  It  is  John  Garston,  Alma." 
Her  smile  faded  then  like  a  flash. 
"  Gerald's  father !" 

"  That's  it,  exactly.  If  it  was  plain  John  Garston, 
and  not  '  Gerald's  father,'  I  should  not  be  long  in 
knowing  what  to  do." 

Somehow,  though  there  was  a  hopeless  tone  in  his 
voice,  she  was  glad  to  hear  him  say  this. 
"  You  like  Gerald,  papa,  don't  you  ?" 
"  Yes,  Alma.     And  you  ?" 
"Very,  very  much." 

Plain,  honest,  outspoken  girl  as  she  had  always 
been,  even  at  a  moment  when  most  girls  would 
have  thought  it  a  part  of  maidenly  modesty  to  cast 
down  their  eyes  and  call  up  a  blush,  she  met  hi« 
ga/e  unflinchingly. 

"What  shall  we  do  about  it,  pet  ?" 


108  THE    GARSTON    filOAMT. 

"  Has  he  really  threatened  to  cut  the  bank  T 

"  He  has  told  me  that  he  could.  He  has  insinu- 
ated it." 

"  But  with  what  object  ?** 

"That  is  more  than  I  can  tell,"  answered  her 
father.  "  John  has  been  growing  colder  to  me  every 
year  for  a  long  time.  I  have  never  injured  him, 
unless  it  be  in  accumulating  money  faster  than  he 
could,  and  Heaven  knows  I  have  never  wronged  a 
man  out  of  a  penny.  He  seems  to  be  jealous  of  my 
greater  success,  and  there  is  nothing  so  unreasoning 
as  jealousy." 

Alma  relapsed  into  deep  thought  for  some  moments. 
When  she  raised  her  head  again,  it  was  with  this 
query  : 

"  Is  there  any  way  that  you  could  prevent  him,  if 
you  chose  ?" 

"  Yes."  He  was  surprised  at  the  way  he  was  con- 
fiding in  her,  for  he  had  never  before  told  her  any- 
thing of  business  matters.  "  He  is  heavily  in  debt. 
The  men  whom  he  owes  have  long  been  prevented 
with  difficulty  from  taking  his  land.  It  is  probable 
that  they  will  take  it  this  year,  and  offer  it  for  sale. 
I  could  buy  it." 

It  was  evident  that  these  forms  were  not  very 
familiar  to  the  girl,  for  she  asked  to  have  them 
explained  more  fully.  When  she  understood  the 
legal  aspect  of  the  case  she  said  : 

"  If  you  did  not  buy  the  farm  some  one  else 
would?" 

"Yes." 

"What  would  Mr.  Garston,— and — and  Gerald- 
do,  then  ?  Where  would  they  live  ?" 

**  I  do  not  know.     I  should  be  glad  to  let  John  stay 


*1OD  MUST  FIGHT  THESE  MEN."  10* 

where  he  is— for  the  sake  of  Gerald— but  I  fear  he 
would  be  too  angry  and  too  proud  to  accept  the 
favor.  I  should  want  nothing  except  to  secure  the 
mill-stream  from  injury.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
profit  in  the  mill,  my  dear,  and  I  should  not  like  to 
have  it  stopped." 

Alma  thought  again  for  a  little  while. 

**  It  is  so  contemptible  of  him  to  propose  it !"  she 
exclaimed,  finally.  "  It  is  like  going  into  somebody's 
garden  and  cutting  down  their  fruit  trees.  I  would 
not  submit  to  it !" 

"What  shall  I  dor 

"  You  must  stop  him  I" 

*  In  what  way.    See,  I  am  asking  your  advice.** 

**  In  any  way.    In  every  way.     You  must  stop  him." 

He  leaned  over  her. 

M  Even  if  I  have  to  take  the  house  over  his  head  ?" 

-Yes." 

«  And  Gerald's  r 

He  had  never  imagined  the  quality  that  was  in  her, 
that  made  her  look  him  straight  in  the  eye  and 
answer  "  yes  "  again. 

"  You  will  wait,"  she  added,  "  till  you  are  sure  he 
intends  to  carry  out  his  threat,  and  then  you  will  act. 
Gerald  will  not  blame  you,  if  he  has  a  right  idea  of 
the  matter.  He  is  not  at  all  like  his  father.  He 
could  not  do  a  mean  thing.  He  would  never  claim 
that  you  ought  to  allow  any  one  to  inflict  a  wanton 
injury  on  you  without  retaliating." 

Alvah  Adams  loved  Alma  more  at  that  minute  than 
he  had  ever  done,  and  he  had  not  supposed  his  love 
capable  of  increase. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  I  care  more  for  you  than  for 
the  mill — more  than  for  fifty  mills,  more  than  for  all 


110  THE    GAR6TON    BIGAMY. 

my  other  possessions.  I  would  do  anything  rather 
than  imperil  your  happiness.  Think  weJ  of  this 
and  tell  me  your  opinion,  later." 

He  kissed  her  and  she  went  away  slowly. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  BUT  THAT  IS  A  SERIOUS  THING." 

Colonel  Staples  had  been  thinking  a  good  deal  of 
late  about  the  subject  of  the  pecuniary  difficulties  of 
John  Garston.  He  cared  no  more  for  that  individual, 
considered  alone,  than  did  Alvah  Adams,  but  as  the 
father  of  one  for  whom,  he  entertained  the  greatest 
affection,  and  for  whom  his  daughter  felt  something 
that  could  hardly  be  described  by  any  thing  less  than 
a  tenderer  name,  he  thought  he  ought  to  do  what- 
ever lay  in  his  power  to  postpone  the  unpleasant  day 
when  importunate  creditors  would  demand  their 
rights.  He  had  no  doubt  that  after  Gerald  entered 
into  the  practice  of  his  profession  he  would  find  a 
way  to  relieve  his  parent  of  the  difficulties  which 
crowded  upon  him.  To  allow  the  avalanche  to  pre- 
cipitate itself  across  his  path  at  the  present  time 
would  result  in  no  one  could  tell  what  annoyances. 
Upon  leaving  Mr.  Adams  that  morning  when  they 
met  in  the  road  and  talked  the  matter  over,  the 
Colonel  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  offer  assist- 
ance to  Garston  the  first  time  he  met  him. 

Garston  knew  well  that  his  affairs  were  in  a  very 
precarious  state.  But  so  they  had  been  for  years, 


"BUT  THAT   IS    A    SERIOUS    THIN«."  Ill 

and  yet  he  had  always  managed  to  escape  foreclo- 
sure at  the  last  moment.  He  had  more  than  once 
seen  the  interest  day  approach  until  its  shadow  cast 
a  black  cloud  over  his  heart,  and  yet  something  had 
always  happened  to  save  him  before  the  fatal  blow 
was  delivered.  The  year  previous,  three  days  after 
the  Iowa  Investment  Company  had  given  him  notice 
that  they  should  push  their  rights,  a  stranger  giving 
the  name  of  Bufford  had  called  to  ask  if  he  would 
like  to  execute  a  second  mortgage,  at  the  ordinary 
rate  of  interest — a  thing  unknown  in  that  latitude — 
and  the  money  thus  obtained  had  sufficed  to  put  off 
his  importunate  creditors  for  another  year.  Now  both 
the  interest  on  the  first  and  second  mortgages  were 
coming  due,  and  the  principal  of  the  latter  as  well. 
He  had  hoped  to  save  something  toward  payment, 
but  with  Gerald's  college  expenses  and  some  losses 
in  various  directions  his  plans  had  gone  wrong.  He 
had  less  than  four  hundred  dollars  on  hand,  with  a 
thousand  due  on  the  principal,  and  half  as  much  as 
interest,  and  with  everything  he  owned,  from  his 
farm  down  to  the  smallest  animal  or  tool  upon  it, 
mortgaged  to  their  full  value.  He  had  no  idea  from 
what  source  relief  could  come,  but  he  had  a  blind 
confidence  that  it  would  come  from  somewhere. 
And  in  this  blind  confidence  he  rested  when  he 
entered  into  the  suit  against  Adams  and  threatened 
to  cut  off  the  mill-water  as  soon  as  his  crops  were 
out  of  the  ground. 

Of  course  John  had  no  idea  that  the  stranger 
named  Bufford  was  really  the  representative  of  Mr. 
Adams,  and  the  money  which  he  advanced  on  the 
precarious  security  of  a  second  mortgage  came  from 
Uw»  solid  bank  account  of  his  prosperous  neighbor. 


11)  1KB  GAJS3TON   BIGAMT. 

Perhaps  if  he  had  known  it  his  pride  would  have 
been  too  strong  to  allow  of  its  acceptance,  even  though 
it  was  the  only  thing  that  could  save  him  from  total 
financial  ruin. 

The  Bufford  mortgage  gave  a  power  of  sale,  as 
did  all  mortgages  at  that  date  in  Iowa,  within  a 
short  time  of  any  defalcation  in  the  payment  of 
interest  or  principal.  With  this  document  in  the 
village  bank,  Adams  waited  for  the  day  when  it 
would  be  available.  He  had  never  wanted  to  make 
John  trouble,  and  had  lent  the  money  with  the  feel- 
ing that  it  was  pretty  much  the  same  thing  as  throw- 
ing it  away  ;  but  the  sinister  expressions  in  reference 
to  the  mill-stream  had  proved  too  much  for  his  good 
nature. 

He  was  considerable  surprised,  therefore,  to 
receive  word  from  the  agent  Bufford  one  day  in 
August,  that  the  note  covering  the  second  mort- 
gage had  been  paid  in  full  with  interest,  and  that 
the  amount  was  awaiting  his  order.  Adams  was 
more  than  surprised,  he  was  annoyed.  He  wondered 
who  beside  himself  had  been  reckless  enough  to 
advance  money  on  that  sort  of  security.  He  went 
and  told  Alma  what  he  had  learned,  as  soon  as  he 
could  find  her. 

"It  leaves  me  entirely  at  his  mercy,"  he  said.  "He 
will  do  what  he  threatened  now.  There  is  no  doubt 
about  it." 

"  Simply  from  ugliness  !  "  she  exclaimed.  **  How 
can  any  man  have  such  a  disposition.  Well,  it 
relieves  us  of  the  other  question,  at  least.  He  will 
have  to  bear  all  the  moral  responsibility." 

"And  much  it  will  trouble  him  !"  he  answered, 
grimly.  "  There  is  one  thing  left  that  I  could  per- 


"BUT  THAT  u  A  SBBIOUS  -rmso."          113 

haps  do.  I  could  see  the  agent  of  the  Investment 
Company  which  has  the  other  mortgage  and  ascer 
tain  if  they  wish  to  sell  it.  Were  it  not  for  Gerald, 
my  course  would  be  plain  enough." 

Mr.  Adams  happened  to  see  Mr.  Grosschen  shortly 
afterward,  and  in  response  to  the  question  whether 
the  company  had  any  mortgages  which  they  wished 
to  dispose  of,  received  the  reply  that  it  was  against 
the  policy  of  the  company  to  sell  mortgages.  They 
had  an  implied  contract  with  their  customers  that 
only  the  usual  proceedings  would  be  taken. 

"  As  long  as  the  interest  is  kept  up,"  he  said,  "we 
let  the  principal  stand.  When  there  is  a  default  we 
sell  at  auction,  according  to  law.  We  never  do  any- 
thing t' 

"Supposing,"  said  Mr.  Adams,  "that  you  had  a 
mortgagor  who  should  flood  his  land  to  spite  a 
neighbor  and  thus  reduce  its  producing  and  selling 
value  ?" 

"  I  can't  imagine  such  a  case,"  was  the  reply, "  but 
I  do  not  think  we  should  do  anything  about  it  so 
long  as  the  interest  was  paid.  We  are  not  fond  of 
interfering  in  minor  matters  with  our  mortgagors." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  outlet  in  this  direction, 
and  Adams  returned  home  with  a  greater  puzzle 
than  ever  on  his  mind. 

Colonel  Staples,  who  had  known  that  the  Bufford 
mortgage  was  really  the  property  of  Adams,  was 
troubled  over  the  part  he  felt  obliged  to  play  in  the 
affair,  principally  because  it  compelled  him  to  enter 
into  a  sort  of  deception  of  his  old  friend.  Like  Adam* 
he  had  not  wanted  Garston  to  know  from  what 
source  his  assistance  came,  and  had  engaged  an  out 
ftider  to  transact  the  business.  The  first  time  he 


114  THE   GABSTON   BIGAICT. 

met  Adams  he  had  a  mortal  fear  that  fee  would 
allude  to  the  case,  and  dreaded  lest  he  should  ask 
him  if  he  knew  who  this  man  Davidson  was  who 
had  taken  up  the  mortgage.  The  Colonel  did  not 
mean  to  reveal  his  own  part  in  the  transaction,  and 
neither  did  he  like  to  tell  even  a  white  lie  to  con- 
ceal it 

But,  to  his  great  relief,  Alvah  never  alluded  to  the 
matter  in  any  way.  Things  went  on  quietly  until 
one  day,  early  in  September,  when  some  one  in  the 
village  asked  him  if  he  had  heard  that  Garston  was 
boasting  that  the  Adams  mill  would  shut  down 
before  the  next  snow  came.  Finding  that  this 
statement  had  really  been  made  by  Garston,  Colonel 
Staples  thought  it  his  duty  to  have  a  talk  with  him. 
He  had  not  meant  that  his  kindness  to  one  neighbor 
should  result  in  the  injury  of  another,  and  had 
thought  John's  talk  in  the  summer  mere  idle  words 
without  any  meaning  behind  them. 

John  did  not  prove  very  communicative,  when  tho 
Colonel  approached  him.  To  the  statement  that 
"people  said  "  he  had  threatened  to  stop  the  mill,  ho 
answered  that  people  said  a  good  many  things. 
When  he  was  pressed  to  make  an  explicit  denial  h« 
made  the  retort  that  he  hoped  he  had  a  right  to  do 
as  he  liked  with  his  own,  and  that  it  was  something 
about  which  he  would  not  allow  any  one  to  dictate. 

"Wouldn't  you  be  willing  to  sell  that  part  of  your 
farm  by  which  the  river  runs  ?"  suggested  Colonel 
Staples.  "  That  would  settle  the  matter  once  for 
all." 

"  I  haven't  got  any  land  to  sell,  and  I  am  not 
worrying  about  settling  anything,"  said  Garston. 
"  Let  those  who've  got  things  to  worry  about  do  th« 


115 


fretting.  Alvah  says  I  am  all  mortgaged  up  and 
shall  be  sold  out  soon.  I  don't  owe  anybody  any 
interest  that's  due,  and  I  shall  do  as  I  like.  When 
he's  got  any  thing  to  say  to  me  let  him  come  and  say 
it  and  not  send  third  parties." 

The  Colonel  made  haste  to  assure  him  that  he  had 
come  of  his  own  accord,  just  in  the  interest  of  har- 
mony between  neighbors. 

"There  can  be  no  harmony  between  Alvah  Adams 
and  me,"  replied  Garston,  quietly.  "Things  have 
gone  too  far  for  that.  I  don't  need  any  of  your 
counsel,  as  I  have  been  of  age  for  several  years 
All  you  could  say  wouldn't  alter  anything,  and  we 
might  as  well  drop  it  where  it  is." 

Colonel  Staples  wore  such  a  thoughtful  face  when 
he  reached  home  that  Edith,  who  ran  to  meet  him, 
inquired  anxiously  what  was  the  matter. 

"A  little  business,  darling,"  he  replied,  "that  I 
tried  to  arrange  has  gone  wrong.  It  is  nothing  that 
should  trouble  you,  at  least.  I  wanted  to  make  two 
old  friends  who  have  fallen  out  happy  again,  and  I 
failed.  That's  all." 

"  But  that  is  a  serious  thing !"  said  Edith, 
thoughtfully,  as  she  took  a  chair  by  his  side.  "  If 
two  friends  have  fallen  out  and  become  two  enemies 
instead,  and  you  could  not  reconcile  them,  I  do  not 
wonder  that  you  are  sober.  Tell  me  all  about  it, 
that  I  may  understand  it  fully.  I  am  very  much 
interested." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  and  then  con. 
eluded  that  he  would  partly  comply  with  her  re- 
quest. 

"  Oh,  it  is  that  old  matter  of  the  mill-stream." 

"  Which  Gerald  tried  to  settle  ?" 


116  IBB  eABSTOJr  BIGAMY. 

4 

u  No,  another  branch  of  the  same  difficulty,  whK... 
Gerald  would  have  much  less  chance  of  settling 
even  than  the  other.  His  father  has  threatened  to 
cut  the  bank  of  the  stream  where  it  borders  on  his 
land,  and  cut  off  the  supply  of  water  which  turns 
Mr.  Adams'  millwheeL" 

Edith  evinced  the  greatest  astonishment  at  this 
information. 

"  Why  should  he  wish  to  injure  Mr.  Adams  ?"  she 
asked. 

Her  father  told  her  all  he  thought  wise  about  the 
matter,  but  it  gave  no  explanation  to  the  query  she 
had  propounded.  He  did  not  care  to  go  as  far  back 
as  the  marriage  of  Alma's  mother. 

"  I  am  foolish  to  tell  my  Edith  this,"  he  said,  in 
conclusion.  "There  is  no  reason  why  her  head 
should  be  filled  with  such  things." 

"  I  am  glad  to  know,"  she  answered,  "  though  I 
am  sorry  that  it  has  occurred.  The  worst  thing  is 
that  it  may  cause  trouble  between  Gerald  and 
Alma.  Not  that  I  imagine  it  could  separate  them," 
she  added,  quickly,  mistaking  the  slight  start  that 
her  father  gave,  "  but  it  will  annoy  them  both  to 
know  that  there  is  a  serious  difficulty  between  their 
parents.  I  can  hardly  conceive  of  anything  more 
unpleasant,  when  people  are  as  intimate  as  they 
are." 

Colonel  Staples  was  much  disturbed. 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  that  there  is  such  a  deep 
attachment  between  Gerald  and  Alma  ?"  he  asked, 
nervously. 

She  looked  up  as  if  she  could  hardly  comprehend 
that  she  heard  aright. 

M  Why,  of  course  there  is  !    Have  you  not  noticed 


"BUT  THAT  18  A  8BHOUB  THING."  117 

!t,  ever  since  they  were  little  children—ever  since 
we  were  all  children  together  ?" 

"But  I  thought,"  he  stammered,  "  tha.tjou  cared 
for  him. ' 

Again  she  surveyed  his  face  with  a  long  stare. 

"  And  so  I  do  !  We  are  all  the  dearest  of  friends 
—Gerald,  Alma  and  I.  If  the  trouble  was  between 
Mr.  Garston  and  you,  don't  you  think  I  should  feel 
it  deeply  ?  Alma  will  find  it  very  hard  to  bear,  and 
whatever  hurts  her  hurts  me  also." 

"  And  what  hurts  Gerald  hurts  you  both  ?" 

He  had  an  idea  that  this  thought  would  arouse 
her  to  a  sense  of  the  position  in  which  she  stood, 
but  it  did  not  She  only  answered,  "Exactly," 
seeming  to  think  that  settled  everything. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  presently, "  that  Gerald 
likes  Alma  more  than  he  does  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  sure  he  doesn't,"  she  responded, 
brightly. 

"  Or  you  more  than  Alma  r** 

She  wondered  at  his  persistency. 

"Perhaps — a  little,"  she  said,  musingly.  "It  is 
Irery  nearly  alike,  I  guess.  But — it  may  be — he 
Ukes  me  a  little  the  best." 

The  Colonel  drew  a  sigh  of  relief. 

**  I  will  tell  you  something  more,"  he  said.  "  Mr, 
Garston  is,  and  has  for  a  long  time  been,  in  finan- 
cial straights.  He  gave  security  on  his  farm  for 
money  borrowed  and  the  mortgagee  was  ready  to 
sell  it  to  enforce  his  claim.  I  heard  of  the  danger 
and  through  a  third  party — so  as  not  to  let  my  name 
appear — I  advanced  the  amount  needed." 

Edith  sprang  up  and  would  have  embraced  him, 
but  he  held  her  off  with  his  hands. 


US  THE  GARSTON  BIGAMY. 

"  You  think  it  was  from  sheer  goodness  of  heart 
that  I  did  that,  but  you  are  mistaken.  I  only  did  it 
for  your  sake.  I  did  it  because  it  would  have  in- 
jured the  future  of  Gerald  to  have  the  place  sold, 
and  because  I  thought  you  cared  so  much  for  him 
that  it  would  pain  you." 

Edith  still  tried  to  put  her  arms  about  him. 

"  Why  do  you  refuse  to  let  me  show  my  grati- 
tude t"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  way  in  which  you 
could  have  earned  it  better." 

"Let  me  tell  you  first  the  name  of  the  creditor 
who  held  the  note  which  I  redeemed.  It  was  Alvah 
Adams." 

The  girl  was  so  lost  in  wonder  that  she  dropped 
her  arms  to  her  side. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  would  have  taken  Gerald's 
house  from  over  his  head  ?" 

"To  prevent  Mr.  Garston's  destruction  of  the 
mill-power — yes.  It  was  a  case  where  he  would 
have  thought  it  right.  It  is  a  very  unhappy  affair. 
Edith,  and  it  is  likely  to  put  me  into  a  most  un- 
pleasant situation.  Should  Mr.  Garston  attempt  to 
carry  out  his  plan  there  is  but  one  person  in  the 
world  who  could  stop  him,  and  that  person  is  my- 
self." 

The  Colonel  waited  a  moment  to  collect  his 
thoughts  and  then  proceeded. 

*'  If  the  river  is  allowed  to  overflow  upon  Mr.  Gar- 
ston's land  it  will  inevitably  injure  it  seriously  for 
farming  for  a  long  time.  Thus  it  will  lessen  the 
value  of  the  security  of  the  mortgage  which  I  hold. 
I  could  undoubtedly  procure  an  injunction  from  the 
court  which  would  prevent  him  carrying  out  his 
tcheme.  But  to  do  this  I  should  have  to  show  him 


*WT  THAT  18  A  SEBIOTTS  THING."  11§ 

that  I  am  the  real  owner  of  the  mortgage.  It  would 
not  be  strictly  honest  for  my  agent  to  go  to  the  court 
and  say  that  it  was  his  property  at  stake.  There 
would  be  affidavits  to  subscribe  that  could  only  be 
signed  by  the  real  person  interested.  If  I  obtain 
this  injunction  I  can  save  the  power  to  Mr.  Adams* 
mill ;  but  at  the  same  time  I  shall  doubtless  incur  the 
enmity  of  Mr.  Garston,  and  that  may  make  a  rup- 
ture between  us  that  will  result  in  trouble  for  Gerald 
and  you.  Now  you  see,  my  child,  why  I  came  home 
to  day  with  a  cloud  on  my  face." 

Edith  did  see  it,  and  she  sat  a  long  time  in  silence 
thinking  the  matter  over.  In  the  case  of  the  farmers 
who  wanted  damages  she  had  concluded  at  once  that 
right  was  right,  and  that  no  question  of  expediency 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  enter  into  the  discussion. 
Now  that  she  found  that  Gerald's  happiness — which 
meant  in  a  peculiar  degree  her  own — was  involved, 
she  wanted  a  little  time  for  consideration. 

"I  will  go  and  talk  to  Mr.  Garston,"  she  said,  at 
last.  "  He  need  not  know  that  you  have  told  me  of 
your  visit  to  him,  and  certainly  I  shall  say  nothing 
about  the  secret  you  have  committed  to  me.  But 
he  has  always  liked  me,  from  the  earliest  time  I  can 
remember,  and  never  meets  me  in  the  street  without 
stopping,  whkh  for  a  man  of  his  reserved  habits 
means  a  good  deal.  I  will  go  and  talk  with  him 
about  the  brook,  and  perhaps  I  shall  have  a  better 
effect  than  an  older  and  wiser  head.  Gerald  is  at 
Buffalo  with  Mr.  Nelson,  so  he  will  not  be  in  the 
way." 

Colonel  Staples  did  not  exactly  like  this  plan,  but 
he  saw  no  real  reason  why  he  should  refuse  to  girt 
bis  consent  to  it. 


120  THE   GAR8TON   BIGAMY. 

At  this  moment  Edith  discerned  a  familiar  figure 
coming  up  the  walk. 

"There  is  Alma  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  low  tone  of  de- 
light. "  How  I  wish  I  could  confide  this  to  her  »  It 
is  the  only  secret  I  ever  had  that  she  could  not  share." 

"But  she  must  not  share  this  one,"  he  answered, 
decidedly.  "  I  have  told  you  with  the  understanding 
that  you  will  confide  in  no  one." 

Alma  came  upon  the  veranda  where  they  were  sit- 
ting, and  in  their  invariable  fashion  the  girls  em- 
braced each  other  warmly. 

**  I  had  a  letter  from  Gerald  this  morning  ! "  said 
Edith. 

44  And  so  did  I ! "  cried  Alma.  Then  they  both 
laughed  heartily. 

Colonel  Staples  rose  and  excusing  himself,  walked 
into  his  library  and  shut  the  door. 

**  Gerald  ought  not  to  keep  on  writing  so  often  to 
Alma,"  he  mused.  '*  But  after  all,  there  is  plenty  of 
time — plenty  of  time." 


CHAPTER  XL 

IK    THE  UPPER  BERTH. 

Gerald  was  still  away  on  his  visit  to  Clifford  Nel- 
son, when  Edith  Staples  set  out  on  her  errand  of 
conciliation  to  his  father.  It  was  a  lovely  morning, 
late  in  August,  and  lovelier  than  the  morning  was 
Edith,  as  she  tripped  along,  happy  in  her  youth, 
happy  in  the  thought  of  her  good  intentions,  serene 
with  the  serenity  of  one  who  has  no  real  ache  of 


J9f  TMjt   UPPER   BT5TJTH.  13l 

heart  or  worriment  of  mind.  Every  perstn  whom 
she  met  addressed  her  with  a  cheery  "  good-morn- 
ing," for  there  was  no  man,  woman  or  child  in  all 
Jefferson  that  ever  failed  to  give  this  welcome  to  one 
who  always  received  it  with  a  pleased  nod  and 
smile  in  return.  Her  father  might  have  more  of 
this  world's  goods  than  had  some  of  theirs,  but 
neither  he  nor  she  ever  showed  that  they  considered 
this  a  matter  to  stand  between  them  and  courtesy 
to  their  neighbors  of  whatever  grade. 

Surly  as  was  John  Garston  with  the  world  in  gen- 
eral, he  also  relaxed  when  he  saw  her  bright  face, 
and  he  gave  her  what  he  now  gave  to  few,  his  ouf- 
stretched  hand. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Edith." 

It  was  not  a  very  long  sentence,  but  she  knew 
that  she  was  welcome,  and  this  was  as  much  as  she 
had  hoped  for. 

*  I  see  you  have  begun  your  threshing,"  she  said, 
thinking  this  as  good  a  way  to  begin  as  any.  "  You 
have  had  a  good  crop  this  year,  if  I  am  any  judge." 

"  Very  fair." 

It  was  all  he  said,  but  from  him  it  was  encourag« 
ing. 

"  I  heard  from  Gerald  a  few  days  ago.  He  tells 
me  that  he  will  be  home  again  in  another  week." 

"  Yes,  he's  coming." 

"And  then,"  said  Edith,  "we  shall  all  be  off  to- 
gether.  Don't  you  think  it  will  make  quite  a 
vacancy  in  Jefferson  when  we  all  three  go  at  once— 
Alma,  Gerald  and  I  ?" 

Whatever  he  thought  about  it  he  did  not  express 
in  words ;  but  at  the  mention  of  Alma's  name  his 
brow  darkened  a  little. 


122  THE    GAltSTON    BIGAMY. 

"  You  know  what  friends  we  have  all  been  since 
we  were  little  children,"  pursued  Edith,  "and  it 
will  be  very  pleasant  for  us  to  finish  our  education 
so  near  together  as  we  shall  be  at  Chicago.  We  are 
so  glad  over  it  that  I  fear  we  do  not  realize  how 
unhappy  it  will  make  our  parents,  especially  Alma's 
and  mine,  for  Gerald  has  been  off  already  a  good 
deal,  and  you  must  have  got  somewhat  used  to  it 
I  hope  nothing  will  ever  happen  that  will  separate 
us,  for  we  should  not  know  what  to  do  without  each 
other." 

He  knew  now  what  had  brought  her  there,  and  it 
did  not  please  him.  But  he  liked  Edith  too  well  to 
wish  to  injure  her  feelings  and  so  he  waited. 

She  went  back  to  the  crops  again,  remarking  that 
the  corn  was  looking  finely,  but  she  did  not  make 
much  progress  in  the  direction  she  sought.  At  last 
Mr.  Garston  brought  the  matter  to  a  crisis. 

"  Let  us  come  to  the  point,  Miss  Edith.  You  did 
not  come  here  to  talk  to  me  about  the  corn." 

She  looked  up,  rather  alarmed  to  have  the  fact  so 
plainly  stated. 

"You  came  here  to  talk  about  an  affair  that  con- 
e«rns  two  business  men.  Now,  I  like  you — like  you 
better  than  any  girl  in  Jefferson — but  I  can't  talk 
about  that  matter  with  any  one." 

"  But,"  she  protested,  "  when  you  think  of  Gerald 
and  Alma — " 

"I  do  not  think  of  Gerald  and  Alma  !"  he  retorted, 
with  tfce  least  sign  of  anger.  "  I  hope  I  shall  never 
have  to  couple  those  names  in  my  thoughts.  They 
are  names  that  cannot  be  joined,  in  that  or  any 
other  way.  They  have  been  friends  as  children,  but 
it  is  time  even  that  ended.  My  son  will  not  con- 


Hf   THE    UPPBE    BERTH.  133 

tlnue  an  acquaintance  with  his  father  s  enemy  after 
he  understands  the  situation,  which  I  shall  make 
him  do  the  next  time  he  comes  home." 

Edith  grew  pale  at  the  force  of  his  language, 
uttered  with  a  vehemence  quite  foreign  to  his  usual 
nature  as  she  had  known  it. 

"You  would  not  separate  them,"  she  gasped. 
"  You  would  not  forbid  him  to  see  her  !  " 

"I  would — I  will,"  he  answered.  "He  is  nearly 
twenty-two.  The  fancy  of  the  boy  must  give  way 
to  the  common  sense  of  the  man.  I  have  hesitated 
to  speak  to  him  about  it,  believing  that  he  would 
learn  wisdom  of  his  own  accord,  and  believing, 
beside,  that  he  had  fixed  his  affections  elsewhere. 
But—" 

He  stopped,  for  the  girl  showed  extreme  agitation, 
and  the  word,  "  Elsewhere  ? "  came  faintly  from 
her  lips  like  an  echo  of  his  own.  She  had  feared  for 
the  moment  she  knew  not  what.  It  sounded  as  if 
Gerald  had  another  love  of  whom  she  had  never 
heard. 

"You  understand  me,  Miss  Edith,"  said  Garston, 
resuming.  "  I  have  seen  the  friendship  of  you  three, 
and  I  have  believed — I  still  believe — that  it  is  not 
toward  Alma  that  Gerald's  dearest  thoughts  have 
turned.  If  I  have  been  mistaken,"  he  added,  hast- 
ily, as  she  essayed  to  interrupt  him,  "  I  shall  take 
action  at  once.  If  I  am  right,  nothing  that  he 
could  do  would  make  me  happier.  * 

Edith  was  powerfully  affected  by  these  expres- 
sions, the  more  so  as  she  was  totally  unprepared  for 
them.  It  was  extremely  grateful  to  find  that  this 
hard  man  entertained  such  kindly  feelings  toward 
herself,  and  that  he  thought  her  worthy  of  the  son 


196  THB  0JLB8TOH  BIGAMY. 

whom  he  loved  with  the  only  warm  spot  in  his 
being.  But  a  sense  of  disloyalty  to  Alma  overpow- 
ered these  sentiments,  and  she  hastened  to  reply  : 

"  I  think  you  are  in  error,  Mr.  Garston.  If  you 
forbid  him  to  see  Alma  you  will  give  all  of  us  great 
grief,  for  it  will  sever  a  bond  that  has  become  dearei 
than  you  can  imagine.  You  say  that  you  like  me. 
For  my  sake,  then,  if  for  no  other  reason,  give  up 
this  plan,  and  allow  things  to  go  on  as  they  are  go- 
ing. If  it  will  influence  you  any,"  she  added,  with 
a  blush,  "  I  am  confident  that  you  need  have  no  fear 
so  far  as  Alma — " 

She  paused,  too  much  overcome  with  confusion  to 
finish  the  sentence. 

"  I  knew  I  was  not  wrong,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"It  is  not  necessary  that  some  things  should  be 
spoken  to  have  them  understood.  But  it  is  safer 
— both  for  him  and  you — that  a  stop  should  be  put 
to  their  intimacy." 

A  feeling  of  guilt  came  over  her  that  she  should 
seem  to  share  in  such  a  thought  as  this. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  cried.  "Not  for  mel  It  is  not 
safer  for  me.  I  do  not  need  the  protection.  Neither 
does  he,  sir.  And  think  of  the  imputation.  It  would 
seem  as  if  you  believed  there  was  danger,  and  that 
would  set  everybody  to  talking.  Let  things  be  as 
they  are.  From  your  own  standpoint  it  is  the  best 
way.  Alma  and  I  are  like  sisters.  She  and  Gerald 
are  no  closer.  I  am  certain  of  it,  so  long  as  you  force 
me  to  say  so.  And  that  brings  me  to  what  I  came 
here  for.  Yes,  it  is  about  the  water  in  the  mill- 
stream  that  I  want  to  speak  about.  Let  it  flow  on 
unmolested.  It  is  for  my  own  sake  I  ask  it,  and  if 


Cff  THE    UTPKR   BJEATH.  125 

you  really  care  anything  for  me,  you  will  do  as  I 
request." 

Her  earnestness  was  so  great  that  it  affected  him 
even  while  he  was  forming  a  reply. 

"  You  do  not  know — " 

0  Never  mind  what  your  grievances  have  been. 
The  greater  they  are,  the  nobler  will  be  your  victory 
if  you  pass  them  by.  Dear  Mr.  Garston,  I  shall  never 
forget  the  happiness  you  will  give  me  by  granting 
this  simple  favor.  We  are  all  going  to  Chicago  to- 
gether. Gerald  will  call  upon  me  often,  and  if  Alma 
and  he  are  forbidden  to  speak  how  unpleasant  it  will 
be  for  me.  Wait  till  our  year  in  school  is  ended,  if 
you  can  do  no  more.  Promise  me,"  she  urged  with 
all  her  powers  of  persuasion,  "  promise  me  that  you 
will  wait  a  year  ! " 

John  Garston  would  have  laughed  the  idea  to 
scorn,  an  hour  before,  that  any  slip  of  a  girl  could 
have  had  this  influence  over  him.  But  he  found  his 
tenacity  giving  way  before  her  pleading. 

"  If  it  works  harm — to  you — mind,  for  I  can  see 
how  it  may  do  so,  don't  blame  me,"  he  said,  relent- 
ing. "  I  will  be  plain.  I  want  you  and  Gerald  to 
spend  your  lives  together.  Alma  Adams  is  a  girl  of 
great  strength  of  mind,  and  you  will  need  to  be 
careful  that  she  does  not  use  her  powers  to  supplant 
you.  It  is  useless  to  sneer  at  such  a  possibility. 
Such  things  have  been  done,  and  they  may  be  again. 
If  I  make  you  a  promise,  you  must  make  me  another. 
Do  not  be  coy  to  Gerald.  Give  him  no  cause  to 
doubt  the  real  state  of  your  mind  toward  him. 
Many  a  lover  has  been  chilled  by  pretended  coolness. 
You  are  both  young,  but  you  are  old  enough  to 
know  your  minds.  Do  not  be  too  anxious  to  wait  until 


1S6  tnC  GARSTON  MQAMY. 

he  is  settled  in  his  profession.  If  he  speaks,  encour- 
age  him,  and  all  will  be  well.  But,  even  when  I  con« 
sent  to  your  request  that  I  shall  do  nothing  to  sepa- 
rate him  from  her,  I  fear — I  fear." 

Edith  caught  both  his  hands  in  hers. 

"You  need  fear  nothing.  Of  course  you  won't 
tell  Gerald  about  my  coming  here,  or  that  you  have 
said  any  of  these  things  to  me.  We  are  very  young 
— indeed,  I  feel  I  am  hardly  more  than  a  child.  Lei 
things  alone,  that  is  all  there  is  to  do.  You  have 
made  me  happier  than  you  can  imagine  ! " 

With  that  she  ran  away,  afraid  to  stay  for  any- 
thing more,  and  went  home  to  tell  her  father  that 
she  had  secured  at  least  a  temporary  delay  in  the 
threatened  hostilities.  She  did  not  tell  him  what 
else  she  had  learned,  for  she  could  hardly  bear  eren 
to  think  of  it  herself.  Loving  Gerald  as  she  had  done 
for  so  long,  knowing  as  she  had  known  for  the  past 
year  that  there  was  something  more  than  ordinary 
affection  between  them,  she  had  never  till  now  put 
it  into  definite  form  even  to  her  own  heart.  Mr. 
Garston  had  unlocked  the  secret  chamber  and  en- 
abled her  to  gaze  upon  the  hidden  treasures  that  she 
had  hardly  dared  till  then  to  call  by  their  right 
name.  Very  sweet  indeed  was  the  sight,  but  the 
timorous  soul  felt  something  akin  to  fright  at  the 
revelation.  And  thus  it  has  ever  been  since  romance 
began  to  be  written,  and  no  doubt  long  centuries 
anterior  to  that  day. 

Gerald  came  back  when  it  lacked  but  a  fortnight 
of  the  day  on  which  he  was  to  depart  for  his  law 
office,  and  the  girls  were  to  go  with  him  to  their 
seminary.  His  father,  faithful  to  his  promise  to 
Edith,  said  nothing  to  him  whatever  about  Alma. 


lit 

Neither  did  he  utter  any  further  threats  against 
Adams,  though  he  did  not  withdraw  his  name  from 
the  list  of  parties  to  the  mill-stream  suit  That  case 
was  originally  set  down  for  trial  in  November,  but 
Mr.  Adams'  attorney  had  had  it  postponed  till 
spring  in  order  that  the  jury  might  be  able  to  see 
the  full  extent  of  the  overflow.  Things  remained  in 
statu  quo,  though  it  might  be  merely  the  calm  that 
precedes  the  storm — the  silence  that  is  a  precursor 
of  the  earthquake. 

Garston  repented  the  promise  he  had  made  when 
he  heard,  one  morning,  that  several  heavy  loads, 
drawn  by  oxen,  had  been  taken  in  the  night  time 
and  lodged  in  an  addition  which  Alvah  had  recently 
built  to  his  mill.  It  seemed  to  him  like  a  defiance — 
this  preparation  to  enlarge  the  capacity  of  a  concern 
which  he — Garston — had  the  power  to  stop  at  his 
pleasure.  At  first  he  questioned  the  honor  of  Edith 
in  the  matter,  fearing  that  she  had  informed  Mr. 
Adams  of  the  agreement  which  he  had  made,  but  he 
had  too  much  confidence  in  her  to  hold  this  opinion 
for  long.  It  was  more  like  a  decided  challenge  on 
the  part  of  the  mill-owner  for  him  to  do  his  worst. 
John  had  no  doubt  that  the  mysterious  loads  con- 
tained another  set  of  mill-stones  and  the  necessary 
machinery  for  putting  them  in  operation.  He  was 
very  angry  at  first,  but  he  grew  calmer  on  reflection. 
The  larger  Alvah's  investment,  the  larger  would  be 
his  loss  when  the  power  was  destroyed.  He  could 
afford  to  wait,  and  when  the  year  was  ended  not 
even  the  sweet  voice  of  Edith  Staples  should  per- 
suade him  from  his  revenge  ! 

Both  Mr,  Adams  and  Colonel  Staples  with  their 
wives  had  visited  Chicago,  making  the  journey  i» 


198  THB    GAR3TOW   BIGJLMY. 

company,  to  inspect  the  rooms  which  their  daughters 
were  to  occupy,  and  to  talk  personally  with  the  prin- 
cipal of  the  seminary.  They  had  left  word  that  Ger- 
ald was  to  have  as  free  access  to  the  girls  as  though 
he  were  a  brother.  Each  of  the  fathers,  in  language 
strikingly  similar,  committed  his  daughter  to  the 
care  of  the  young  man,  who  was  to  see  her  to  her 
journey's  end,  and  act  as  a  sort  of  guardian  to  her 
while  there. 

"I  know  of  no  one  else  to  whom  I  would  entrust 
Edith,"  said  Colonel  Staples,  with  feeling.  "You 
have  long  seemed  to  me  almost  like  a  son,  and  I  am 
glad  you  and  she  are  to  be  so  near  each  other. 
Visit  her  often  and  make  her  first  separation  from 
her  parents  as  easy  to  her  as  you  can." 

*'  You  and  Alma  seem  more  like  brother  and 
sister  than  anything  else,"  was  the  way  Mr.  Adams 
put  it.  "  I  shall  feel  quite  easy  to  know  that  she 
is  where  she  can  call  upon  you  in  case  of  necessity. 
It  is  the  first  time  she  has  ever  been  from  her  mother 
and  me,  but  she  will  not  mind  it  so  much  when  you 
are  where  you  can  see  her  every  few  days." 

Gerald  thanked  both  of  them  for  their  confidence, 
and  made  some  perfunctory  remarks  to  the  effect 
that  he  hoped  their  faith  in  him  was  deserved.  To 
this  they  each  responded  that  they  had  no  doubt  of 
that,  and  the  party  set  off.  The  girls  kissed  their 
parents  repeatedly  and  promised  to  write  very 
often.  The  station  was  crowded  in  their  honor,  and 
the  good-byes  that  rent  the  air  as  the  train  moved 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  presidential 
Only  one  face  that  might  have  been  ex- 
pected to  be  there  was  missing,  that  of  Gerald's 
lather,  who  had  no  mind  to  join  in  a  celebration  im 


nr  THE  OTPE*  KEKTH.  HO 

which  Alvah  Adams  would  have  a  share.  He  had 
bade  farewell  to  his  son  at  his  house  on  the  plea  of 
business  engagements. 

On  the  way  to  Chicago  the  trio  spent  their  time 
much  as  they  ordinarily  did  when  in  the  company 
of  each  other.  Their  seats  in  the  Pullman  faced 
each  othef.  Gerald  occupied  one,  and  the  girls, 
sitting  opposite,  passed  the  hours  in  conversation 
with  him,  never  seeming  at  a  loss  for  enough  sub- 
jects of  common  interest. 

Answering  them  when  they  spoke,  and  even  in- 
augurating an  occasional  vein  of  his  own,  Gerald's 
thoughts  were  most  of  the  time  far  from  the  topics 
discussed.  He  was  trying  to  find  some  reason  to 
prefer  one  of  them  to  the  other,  as  Clifford  Nelson 
had  so  confidently  assured  him  he  must  at  once 
begin  to  do.  Alma  was  the  more  superb,  Edith  the 
fairer  and  more  delicate.  Alma  cou'd  vanquish  her 
rival  at  repartee,  excelling  in  brilliancy ;  Edith 
could  rally  her  forces  and  convince  by  the  clear  and 
honest  quality  of  her  argument.  Which  of  them 
would  make  a  man  happier  as  a  partner  for  life  ? 
That,  after  all,  was  the  great  query. 

He  looked  at  the  magnificent  physique  which 
Alma  exhibited,  even  at  her  present  age,  saying  to 
himself  that  she  would  never  be  otherwise  than  per- 
fect as  a  physical  being.  He  marked  the  rosy  hue 
of  her  complexion,  indicating  health  and  evenness 
of  temperament.  Then  he  looked  at  Edith's  clear 
blue  eyes,  the  transparent  whiteness  of  her  hands  and 
the  sweet  mobility  of  her  mouth.  Could  he  part  with 
either  of  them  ?  No,  no !  The  time  predicted  when 
there  would  appear  a  preference  had  not  yet  come. 

Me  slept  in  the  upper  berth  that  night,  with  th* 


180  TMB    GABSTON    BIGAMY. 

girls  clasped  In  each  other's  arms  in  the  one  beneath 
him.  An  extra  crush  of  travel  had  prevented  his 
procuring  an  additional  section,  as  he  had  meant 
to  do.  He  lay  awake  till  past  midnight,  thinking  ot 
the  picture  that  he  could  not  see,  and  yet  which  was 
so  near  him. 

There  was  the  slenderer  form,  the  more  exquisite 
moulding  that  belonged  to  Edith  ;  and  there  were  tha 
rounder  arms,  the  fuller  figure  of  Alma.  "  Which?  '' 
he  cried,  almost  aloud.  "  Which  ?  "  And  there  was 
no  answer. 

He  might  have  either  of  them  for  life  by  the  ask- 
ing. Which  ?  Which?  WHICH  should  it  be  !  ! 

"  I  love  them  both  !  "  he  reflected,  pressing  his 
pillow  against  his  feverish  head.  "  How  can  it  end  ? 
how  can  it  end  ?" 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  DO  YOU  LOVE  MY  SON  ?** 

The  girls  liked  their  school.  Having  Gerald  where 
they  could  see  him  nearly  every  day  lessened  the 
unpleasantness  of  their  first  absence  from  home. 
They  were  bright  scholars  and  made  rapid  progress. 
The  young  men  also  did  credit  to  themselves  in  the 
office  of  Thurston  &  Thurston,  the  law  firm  with 
which  they  were  reading.  The  three  fathers  in  Jef- 
ferson heard  the  news  and  were  well  pleased. 

Nothing  of  special  interest  worth  recording  hap- 
pened to  the  principal  characters  in  this  tale  during 


"*>  YOIT   IOTK  JIT  90*1"  1SJ 

the  winter.  Nelson  saw  nothing  to  cause  him  to 
change  the  waiting  position  he  had  assumed.  They 
all  went  home  for  a  fortnight  at  Christmas,  and  then 
returned  to  their  studies. 

The  second  parting  of  Edith  and  Alma  from  their 
parents  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  the  first.  They 
loved  them  as  deeply  as  ever,  but  there  was  a  good 
deal  to  both  of  them  in  the  fact  that  they  were  not 
to  be  separated  from  Gerald.  Had  he  remained  at 
home,  or  gone  in  some  other  direction,  there  might 
have  been  a  very  different  story  to  tell. 

Late  in  the  spring,  or  rather  early  in  the  summer, 
the  law-suit  of  "  Garston,  et  al."  as  the  papers  were 
now  made  to  read,  against  Alvah  Adams,  was  tried 
in  the  county  court.  Neither  the  mill-owner  nor  his 
counsel,  Major  Noyes,  had  been  idle.  They  con- 
fronted the  belligerent  farmers  with  expert  testi- 
mony to  the  effect  that  the  land,  occasionally  over, 
flowed  by  the  damning  of  the  brook,  had  not  been 
lessened  but  actually  increased  in  value,  and  that  the 
resulting  irrigation  enabled  the  owners  to  raise 
certain  kinds  of  crops  which  brought  prices  superior 
to  the  cereals  which  they  would  otherwise  have  had 
to  grow  there.  Not  content  with  this,  the  Major 
artfully  drew  out  of  each  contestant  the  price  at 
which  he  valued  his  land  per  acre,  showing  subse- 
quently that  the  damages  claimed  were  much  greater 
than  the  entire  area  covered  was  worth,  and  offering 
to  buy  every  foot  of  it  at  a  price  above  the  valuation 
that  any  fair  set  of  appraisers  would  put  upon  it. 
The  result  was  that  the  jury,  composed  though  it 
was  mainly  of  farmers,  who  would  naturally  have  felt 
a  sympathy  for  their  fellow  tillers  of  the  soil,  had  no 
choice  but  to  find  a  verdict  for  the  defendant.  And 


13S  TH«   3AK8TOV    BIOA1TT. 

the  judge,  from  his  place  on  the  bench,  took  occasion 
to  compliment  them  for  their  decision,  and  to  declare 
that  he  had  never  had  a  case  of  greater  worthless- 
ness  brought  before  him  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
administration  of  justice. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  John  Garston  did  not 
find  his  temper  improved  by  the  result  of  the  trial. 
He  stood  a  silent  listener  to  a  conversation  which  took 
place  among  the  suitors  and  their  attorney,  the 
redoubtable  Lawyer  Cass  of  Des  Moines,  outside  the 
court  house,  when  the  case  was  ended,  and  only 
spoke  when  Adams  passed  on  his  way  to  his  car- 
riage, which  stood  with  its  driver  awaiting  him. 

"  He's  running  the  mill  with  my  water,  anyway," 
he  said,  "  and  when  I  am  ready  to  stop  him  I  shall." 

Alvah  Adams  disdained  to  reply  directly  to  this 
thrust,  meant  evidently  to  anger  him,  but  what  he 
had  to  say  he  directed  at  the  crowd  indiscrimin- 
ately. 

"  It  is  in  no  man's  power  to  stop  my  mill.  I  am  not 
in  the  habit  of  boasting  much,  but  if  any  person 
tries  it,  you'll  see  that  what  I  say  is  true." 

Before  he  could  reach  his  carriage,  however,  Mr. 
Crane  stepped  up  to  him  in  a  state  of  intense  anger. 

"  You  can  do  everything,  Alvah  Adams,  we  all 
know  that  I"  he  cried,  shaking  his  clenched  hand  at 
him.  "  You  can  overflow  our  lands,  and  spoil  our 
crops,  and  when  we  come  to  a  jury  they  will  decide 
in  your[favor.  You  have  money !  That's  your  hold ! 
How  much  did  you  pay  to  get  that  verdict,  eh?" 

If  Adams  had  reflected  a  moment  he  would  have 
let  this  observation  pass  for  the  vaporings  of  a  dis- 
appointed man,  but  the  insinuation  stung  him  to  the 
quick.  He  prided  himself  on  the  stainlessness  of  his 


1CT  •Mr?"  188 

honor,  and  had  the  expenditure  of  a  single  cent  been 
sufficient  to  issure  him  the  verdict  he  would  have 
spurned  the  proposal  to  use  it  in  any  unfair  influenc- 
ing of  justice. 

"Go  along,  you  old  fool  !"  he  retorted,  angrily, 
"  If  you  were  not  too  full  of  whiskey  to  know  what 
you  are  saying  I  would  have  you  put  under  arrest 
and  made  to  eat  those  words." 

Crane  had  been  drinking,  there  was  no  doubt  of 
that,  but  he  had  a  gray  head  and  some  of  the 
audience  cried,  "Shame  !"  There  was  little  feeling 
in  Adams'  favor  there,  and  a  crowd  of  that  sort  is  not 
apt  to  be  discriminating  in  its  judgments. 

"  Oh,  you've  got  money  !"  yelled  Crane.  "  You  can 
do  anything !" 

Trying  hard  to  control  himself,  Adams  walked 
nearer  to  his  carriage,  the  driver  of  which  was 
becoming  uneasy.  Seeing  him  retreating,  several  of 
the  bystanders  took  up  the  refrain,  in  more  or  less 
loud  tones,  but  all  of  them  distinct  enough  to  reach 
his  ears.  As  he  heard  them,  his  rage  was  kindled 
anew,  and  he  turned  about. 

"Yes,  I  have  got  money,  honestly  earned  as  any 
money  ever  was,  and  I  don't  propose  to  have  a  set  of 
thieves  and  blackmailers  cheat  me  out  of  it,  either  ! 
I  can  buy  up  every  man  in  this  crowd,  and  have  a 
balance  left  in  the  bank  afterwards.  If  any  of  you 
are  dissatisfied  with  the  verdict  come  to  me  to- 
morrow and  I'll  take  every  acre  and  building  you 
own  and  give  you  the  cash  for  it.  If  you  have  any- 
thing to  sell,  come  to  me  like  square  men  and  say 
so,  but  don't  come  like  chicken-thieves  and  try  to 
get  what  doesn't  belong  to  you  !'* 

The  effect  of  this  extraordinary  speech  was  t» 


184  THE    GARSTOW    BIGAMY. 

silence  the  party  till  he  could  get  into  his  carriage 
and  drive  away,  when  the  smothered  flame  broke 
forth  again.  All  that  could  be  said  against  Adams 
was  brought  out,  and  the  disappointed  litigants  and 
their  sympathizers  exhausted  invective  in  abuse  of 
this  "  tyrant,"  who  had  grown  rich  beyond  their 
power  to  understand,  and  consequently  faster  than 
he  had  any  honest  right  to  do. 

Garston  grew  white  about  the  lips  when  Adams 
launched  his  epithet  at  them  indiscriminately,  but 
when  they  turned  to  him  for  an  explanation  of  his 
threat,  he  only  repeated  it. 

"  He  is  using  my  water  to  run  his  mill  with,  and 
when  I  get  ready  to  stop  him  I  shall." 

It  was  the  only  consolation  they  could  obtain,  and 
unsatisfactory  as  it  was  they  tried  to  find  comfort  in 
it.  Some  thought  Lawyer  Cass  ought  to  be  com- 
pelled to  refund  part  of  the  money  he  had  got  out  of 
them,  the  sum  having  aggregated  something  over  a 
thousand  dollars,  but  others  contended  that  lawyers 
were  not  in  the  habit  of  doing  business  that  way. 
Before  they  got  through,  being  in  a  vicious  temper 
with  everything  and  everybody,  they  fell  to  quar- 
relling among  themselves,  and  several  blows  were 
exchanged.  After  which  the  party  broke  up  in  con- 
fusion. 

Within  the  next  month  three  of  the  litigants, 
becoming  disgusted  with  life  in  that  vicinity,  availed 
themselves  of  Mr.  Adams'  proposition,  sold  him  their 
estates  and  moved  away.  And  soon  happiness  was 
restored  to  his  heart  and  household  by  the  coming 
home  of  his  daughter  for  the  long  summer  vacation. 

A  year  had  done  much  for  Alma.  Her  beauty 
had  ripened  rapidly  as  she  approached  her  twentieth 


MOO  YOU  LOVE  MY   BON?"  185 

birthday,  until  it  seemed  at  times  fairly  dazzling. 
Her  dark  eyes  had  never  been  so  bright,  her  brown 
hair  so  lustrous,  or  her  olive  skin  so  perfect  in  its 
purity  of  blood.  She  was  a  little  taller,  a  little 
rounder,  a  little  more  mature,  but  still  hardly  more 
than  a  large  child,  who  had  no  notion  of  assuming 
the  station  of  full  womanhood.  As  she  alighted 
from  the  train  and  flew  to  meet  her  father  and 
mother,  kissing  each  with  the  passionate  fervor  of 
her  disposition,  the  villagers  who  saw  the  sight  found 
a  murmur  of  admiration  passing  from  one  end  of  the 
crowd  to  the  other. 

"  Isn't  she  perfectly  lovely  !"  remarked  one  young 
swain  to  his  sweetheart,  too  much  affected  by  the 
apparition  to  think  what  a  very  inappropriate  thing 
it  was  to  say  to  her.  But  the  crowd  took  up  the 
expression  and  passed  it  along.  "  Perfectly  lovel  y  !' 
was  repeated  over  and  over  again. 

Alma  had  seen  her  parents  from  the  window,  and 
hastily  waving  her  hand  to  them  had  rushed  to  the 
door  and  left  the  car  step  almost  before  the  train 
came  to  a  stand.  One  or  two  other  passengers 
alighted,  and  then  came  Gerald,  escorting  Edith. 
As  Miss  Staples  came  into  view  the  doubt  [of 
Jefferson  as  to  which  was  the  more  lovely  of  the 
twain  received  its  usual  strain.  All  eyes  turned  from 
Alma  to  her  friend  and  the  expressions  of  admira- 
tion broke  out  afresh. 

Beautiful  as  a  lily,  with  a  complexion  such  as 
wealthy  belles  would  gladly  spend  a  fortune  to  imi- 
tate ;  with  sapphire  eyes,  fair  hair,  the  motion  of  a 
swan  and  the  smile  of  an  angel,  Edith  Staples  had 
her  moment  of  adoration,  too.  There  was  a  minute 
•f  consultation  among  the  party,  and  then  a  hasty 


18$  TVB    OAR8TOIT    BIGAMY. 

1 

separation.  The  closed  carriages  of  the  Adams  and 
the  Staples  families,  with  their  hired  drivers — the 
only  ones  in  town— drove  away  with  their  burdens, 
and  an  open  buggy,  sent  by  a  farm  boy,  took  Gerald 
to  his  father's. 

John  Garston  received  his  son  with  few  words. 
His  taciturnity  was  so  well  known  that  any  thing  else 
would  have  aroused  surprise.  He  questioned  Gerald 
briefly  as  to  whether  he  was  satisfied  with  the  year 
he  had  spent  at  Chicago,  asked  about  one  or  two 
minor  matters,  and  then  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  I  shall  spend  most  of  my  vacation  here,"  said 
Gerald.  "  Is  there  any  way  in  which  I  can  help 
you  ?" 

His  father  was  astonished  at  the  question.  He 
had  never  asked  his  son  for  the  slightest  assistance 
upon  the  farm,  knowing  his  disinclination  for  agri- 
cultural pursuits,  and  he  could  not  understand  what 
put  this  idea  into  his  head.  But  he  contented  him- 
self with  a  simple  negative.  After  eating  his  supper, 
Gerald  strolled  over  to  Mr.  Adams'  house,  where  both 
the  girls  were  awaiting  him,  as  they  had  agreed  to  do 
before  they  parted  at  the  train. 

There  was  one  thing  that  Mr.  Garston  wanted  more 
than  anything  else  now,  and  that  was  to  see  Edith, 
and  have  another  talk  with  her.  He  did  not  know 
how  to  arrange  it,  and  over  a  week  passed  before  he 
happened  to  meet  her  where  others  were  not  present. 
When  the  opportunity  came,  and  he  encountered  her 
on  the  road  from  the  Adams  place  to  her  own  home 
he  only  stopped  to  say  good-morning  and  to  ask  her 
when  she  could  find  time  to  see  him  in  private. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you/'  said  he.     It 


"DO  YOU   LOVE  MY   SON?"  137 

will  not  take  long,  but  I   do  not   wish  to  be  inter- 
rupted." 

"  I  shall  consider  any  time  mine  that  you  appoint," 
was  the  prompt  answer. 

"The  sooner  it  is  over  the  better,"  he  mused.  "I 
will  send  Gerald  away  to-night  on  an  errand,  if  you 
will  call  at  the  house.  Better  make  it  nine  o'clock  or 
about  that." 

"  I  will  be  there,"  she  replied,  and  they  separated. 

Promptly  at  the  time  appointed  she  came,  and 
found  him  sitting  alone  on  the  veranda,  awaiting  her. 
He  had  given  Gerald  a  commission  that  would  take 
him  away  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  as  he  seldom  had 
visitors  no  one  was  likely  to  disturb  them. 

"  I  know  you  will  believe,  Miss  Edith,"  he  said, 
coming  directly  to  the  point,  "  that  there  is  no  one 
whom  I  would  rather  please  than  you.  Nearly  a 
year  ago  I  was  about  to  arrange  a  piece  of  business 
which  I  thought  necessary,  when,  in  obedience  to 
your  request,  I  postponed  it." 

"You  mean,  I  trust,  that  you  abandoned  it 
altogether,"  she  interrupted  him  to  say. 

"  I  post-poned  it,"  he  answered,  deliberately,  "  for 
— a — year.  The  time  is  nearly  expired,  and  I  want  no 
misunderstanding.  I  have  wished  many  times  that 
I  had  not  made  you  that  promise,  but  having  made 
it,  I  kept  it.  Nothing  could  induce  me  to  make  it 
again." 

"  May  I  not  hope — "  she  began. 

He  stopped  her  with  a  trace  of  impatience. 

"That  is  all  there  is  to  that  subject,  if  you  please. 
Now,  will  you  tell  me  if  you  and  Gerald  are  as  good 
friends  as  ever." 

She  struggled  with  herself  a  moment,  for  she  felt 


138  THE    GAR8TON    BIGAMY. 

that  she  was  defeated,  but  she  thought  it  best  not  to 
cross  him.  She  responded  that  she  and  Gerald  were 
on  the  same  pleasant  terms  that  they  had  always 
been. 

"  But — excuse  me,  you  know  why  I  ask  it,  is  there 
•othing  more — nothing  definite — between  you  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  with  deepening  color. 

"  Oh,  there  is  so  much  time  for  that  !  Why,  it 
WJ1  be  years  and  years  before  I  shall  want  to  think 
of  it." 

"  A*ut  meanwhile  you  have  no  fears  of  losing 
him  ?" 

She  sm^l-ed  now. 

"  Not  trie  teast." 

"  Nor  that  Aima  Adams — " 

"  She  is  and  always  will  be  our  dearest  friend. 
Unless,"  she  added,  impressively,  "  you  are  so  cruel 
as  to  destroy  that  fn*r.dship." 

He  spoke  with  more  earnestness  than  she  had  sup- 
posed him  capable  of  exhibiting. 

"  Edith,  do  you  love  my  son  *ery  much  ?" 

She  looked  into  his  eyes,  a  Vetle  startled  at  his 
manner. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  timidly. 

"  You  would  not  like  to  have  zmether  take  him 
from  you?" 

"  No."  And  from  the  heavenly  blue  of  her  eyes 
there  fell  a  raindrop  on  his  hand. 

"Then  let  me  warn  you  not  to  let  him  be  coo  close 
in  this  friendship  with  that  handsome  girl.  He  is 
easily  influenced.  He  has  a  soul  as  gentle  as  your 
own,  and  the  slightest  thing  may  turn  him.  It  is  the 
height  of  folly  for  you  to  imagine  that  they  can  be 
thrown  together  at  all  seasons  without  something 


"DO  votr  LOVE  MY  SON?"  139 

more  than  ordinary  attraction.  Draw  him  away  from 
her  before  you  are  too  late  !" 

Edith  listened  to  him  with  alarm,  but  not  with  any 
fear  that  his  words  could  come  true.  She  trembled 
at  the  thought  that  he  should  have  formed  such  an 
idea. 

"  Why,  Gerald  loves  me,"  she  answered  in  a  whis- 
per. "  It  is  not  necessary  that  he  should  say  so  in 
words  or  that  any  promise  should  be  made  between 
us.  We  have  loved  each  other  ever  since  we  were 
children.  He  has  shown  his  affection  for  me  in  a 
thousand  ways.  I  know  it — I  feel  it !  Alma  is  our 
dear  friend,  whom  I  could  never  suspect  of  unfaith- 
fulness. She  knows  our  love  for  each  other,  though 
it  has  never  been  talked  over,  and  why  should  it  be  ? 
Ah,  Mr.  Garston,  you  do  her  wrong  if  you  entertain 
the  slightest  suspicion  that  she  would  separate  Gerald 
and  me  !" 

She  was  so  earnest  that  he  wished  he  could  agree 
with  her,  but  he  was  a  practical  man  and  he  told  her 
that  he  was  fully  convinced  to  the  contrary. 

"  If  you  think  it  unmaidenly  to  find  from  his  own 
lips  just  how  he  stands,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  endeavor 
to  discover  it  for  myself.  I  could  never  consent  that 
&.  son  of  mine  should  link  his  life  with  a  daughter  of 
Alvah  Adams.  You  think,  you  say  you  are  sure,  that 
he  never  would  do  so.  I  also  must  be  certain.  For 
I  assure  you,  loving  Gerald  as  I  do,  and  he  is  the  only 
thing  on  earth  for  whom  I  care  much,  I  would  never 
allow  him  to  speak  to  me  again,  never  own  him  as  a 
relation,  should  he  make  a  marriage  of  that  kind." 

He  had  spoken  at  an  unusual  length  for  him,  and 
she  had  the  rest  of  the  conversation  principally  to  her- 
self, most  of  his  replies  being  in  monosyllables.  Say 


140  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMT. 

what  she  might  she  could  not  move  him  from  either 
point  on  which  he  had  decided.  He  would  do  as  he 
pleased  about  the  mill-power  and  he  would  have  a 
talk  with  Gerald,  advising  him  to  have  less  to  do 
with  Miss  Adams  ;  in  fact,  to  break  off  his  friendship 
with  the  entire  Adams  family. 

"I  won't  have  him  going  there  !"  he  said,  angrily. 
•*  If  he  is  stubborn,  he  must  choose  between  us.  And 
if  you  are  wise,  Miss  Edith,  you  will  aid  instead  of 
hindering  me  in  that  matter." 

She  felt  the  complete  uselessness  of  arguing  with 
him,  but  she  uttered  a  final  protest,  declaring  that 
she  could  not  bear  to  think  that  a  friendship  as  pure 
and  sweet  as  they  three  had  enjoyed  for  nearly  fifteen 
years  should  be  broken  up  for  a  mere  whim  ;  and 
that  she  should  be  compelled  to  do  all  in  her  power 
to  prevent  Gerald  and  Alma  from  sacrificing  their 
old  friendship  for  each  other. 

"  You  will  advise  my  son  to  disobey  my  request,  is 
that  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"  You  must  remember,"  she  said,  "  that  he  is  nearly 
twenty-three — " 

"  But  a  boy  still — a  boy  who  does  not  know  his 
mind — who  must  be  guided  as  other  boys  are.  It  is 
useless  to  talk  longer  with  me,  Miss  Edith.  We  see 
things  differently." 

Garston  rose  with  a  motion  which  clearly  meant 
farewell,  and  Edith  started  to  leave. 

*'  I  will  go  part  of  the  way  with  you,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  interrupted,  pleasantly,  "  I  am  afraid  of 
nothing.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  that  you  will  think  it 
over.  Good-night." 

Every  word  of  this  conversation  had  been  heard 
by  an  unsuspected  listener,  none  other  than  Gerald 


"DO   YOU  LOVE  MY   BOX?'  14rl 

himself.  He  had  started  on  the  errand  with  which 
his  father  had  entrusted  him,  and  becoming  doubt- 
ful of  a  portion  of  the  message  he  was  to  deliver, 
had  returned  by  a  rear  path  to  ask  that  it  be  more 
fully  explained.  While  searching  for  his  father 
he  had  heard  Edith's  voice,  and  had  paused  from 
sheer  wonder  that  she  should  be  there.  The  first 
words  that  caught  his  ear  were  these  :  "  Are  you 
and  Gerald  as  good  friends  as  ever  ?"  He  could  not 
resist  waiting  one  moment  to  hear  her  reply,  and 
after  that  he  was  in  a  quandary,  for  either  to  advance 
or  retreat  might  subject  him  to  the  suspicion  of  being 
the  eavesdropper  that  he  was,  and  he  did  not  wish  to 
appear  contemptible  to  either  of  them. 

He  had  heard  it  all,  and  when  they  separated  he 
pursued  his  journey,  fain  to  let  the  message  take  care 
of  itself,  as  there  was  no  feasible  way  of  bettering  it 
now.  As  he  walked  along  the  road  he  heard  over 
again  what  had  been  said.  He  had  known  that  his 
father  did  not  like  Alvah  Adams,  but  he  had  not  sup- 
posed the  feud  could  grow  to  this  proportion.  So  it 
was  to  come  to  separating  him  from  Alma,  was  it  ? 
It  was  true  that  he  was  nothing  but  a  boy  who  did 
not  know  his  own  mind,  but  he  would  not  willingly 
submit  to  dictation  like  this.  Never  before  had  he 
been  made  to  feel  parental  restraint,  and  the  first 
pull  of  the  cord  was  not  pleasant.  Separate  him 
from  Alma !  Forbid  him  to  see  her  !  What  non- 
sense !  He  could  not  and  would  not  bear  it. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  loveliness  of  Edith's  con- 
fession, made  without  fear  or  blush.  She  loved  him, 
and  had  owned  it  to  the  one  who  was  by  the  ties  of 
nature  nearest  to  him  and  had  the  best  right  to  ask 
her.  It  was  very  sweet  to  know  that  she  cared  s« 


112  THE  GARSTON   BIGAMT. 

dearly  for  him,  this  girl  whom  he  had  loved  "  ever 
since,"  as  she  herself  put  it,  "they  were  children  !" 
He  had  never  loved  her  as  much  as  he  did  at  this 
moment,  nor  felt  more  the  impossibility  of  going 
through  life  without  her  counsel  and  companionship. 
How  noble  and  generous  she  was  in  her  references 
to  Alma!  Many  girls,  he  well  knew,  would  have 
sacrificed  their  friend  rather  than  incur  the  slightest 
risk  of  losing  their  lover.  He  was  angry  with  him- 
self that  he  was  walking  in  an  opposite  direction,  on 
an  errand  of  little  importance,  instead  of  back  to  the 
village  by  her  side,  with  her  arm  linked  in  his.  If 
he  were  there  at  this  moment  she  should  no  longer 
have  to  confess  that  he  had  never  told  her  definitely 
of  the  love  he  bore  her  and  the  hope  that  lay  next 
his  heart. 

And  then  there  came  a  pain,  a  sudden  twinge,  in 
that  heart,  so  fickle  and  yet  so  true.  For  he  knew 
that  however  much  he  loved  Edith,  Alma  was  no 
less  dear  to  him  ! 


CHAPTER   XIII. 
"THERE  ARE  TIGERS  IN  ASIA." 

There  was  no  corn  on  the  Garston  farm  that  year, 
nor  any  of  the  numerous  varieties  of  "  small  crops  " 
that  ripen  late.  There  was  not  even  a  garden 
planted.  Nothing  but  the  winter  wheat,  that  is 
harvested  in  the  latter  part  of  June,  had  covered  his 
aeres,  The  neighbors  speculated  upon  this  fact  and 


"THERE  ARE  TIGERS  IN  ASIA."  1*3 

came  to  various  conclusions.  Some  said,  with  an  air 
of  wisdom,  that  John  wanted  his  money  all  at  once 
in  order  to  meet  the  payment  of  his  interest,  and 
that  was  why  he  had  raised  the  kind  of  grain  that 
matures  earliest.  Others  guessed  at  the  true  reason — 
his  desire  to  clear  the  fields  so  that  he  could  tap  the 
brook  as  soon  as  possible  and  cut  off  the  supply  of 
water  that  turned  the  wheels  of  Alvah  Adams'  mill. 

Edith  Staples  had  gone  with  her  father  and  mother 
on  a  month's  visit  to  relations  at  a  distance.  She 
had  parted  with  regret  from  Gerald,  even  for  this 
brief  time,  and  he  had  said  many  pleasant  things  to 
her  during  the  calls  that  he  made  after  her  journey 
was  decided  upon.  He  meant  to  tell  her  before  she 
left  that  she  held  a  place  in  his  heart  dearer  than  that 
of  a  mere  friend — meant  to  tell  her  in  set  phrase — 
but  when  he  approached  the  subject  the  words 
failed  to  come.  Once  when  he  stammered  something 
of  what  was  in  his  mind,  she  quite  prevented  his 
going  any  farther  by  saying  that  she  entirely  under- 
stood him  ;  that  there  was  no  need  of  his  saying  any- 
thing more  ;  and  that  she  had  entire  confidence  and 
faith  in  his  truth  and  honor. 

"  Don't  neglect  Alma  while  I  am  gone,"  she  said, 
at  the  last,  with  a  little  tremor  of  the  voice.  "  But 
don't  forget  Edith,  either." 

He  assured  her  that  he  could  never  forget  her, 
present  or  absent,  and  asked  her  to  write  often, 
which  she  promised  to  do. 

Gerald  went  from  the  station,  where  he  and  Alma 
had  been  to  see  the  party  off,  to  the  home  of  the 
Adamses,  somewhat  depressed.  But  the  brightness 
of  Alma's  spirits  soon  had  their  effect  upon  his  own, 
and  he  was  gayer  than  ever  within  an  hour.  After 


144  THK   GJJRSTON   BIGAMY. 

the  early  tea,  in  which  he  participated  with  the 
family,  he  and  Alma  strolled  down  to  the  grove 
where  the  summw-house  was  located  and  took  a 
short  ride  on  the  little  lake  there.  She  was  an  expert 
oarswoman  and  insisted  that,  as  he  was  her  guest, 
she  must  do  the  rowing.  Wishing  only  to  make  her 
happy  he  consented  with  some  reluctance  to  sit  in 
the  stern  and  allow  her  to  furnish  the  motive  power 
that  impelled  the  small  craft.  As  she  bent  forward 
and  put  her  strength  into  the  work  he  noticed  as  he 
never  had  before  the  magnificence  of  her  physique. 
She  wore  a  dress  with  sleeves  of  open  work,  and  the 
pink  flesh  showed  distinctly  as  the  roundness  of  her 
arms  stood  out  in  relief.  The  neck  was  cut  low  and 
the  beauty  of  the  throat  was  apparent.  She  had 
worn  her  long  hair  in  two  braids  from  a  sudden 
fancy,  and  the  loose  locks  that  played  about  her 
forehead  added  piquancy  to  her  expression.  But  it 
was  not  her  olive  skin,  her  dark  eyes,  or  her  bewitch- 
ing dress  that  made  her  irresistible  to  him  on  that 
evening.  It  was  the  clear  and  shining  star  of  love  that 
had  set  itself  on  her  brow  and  beamed  through  all 
obstacles  into  his  very  soul. 

When  they  reached  the  center  of  the  lake,  she 
ceased  rowing.  He  begged  to  be  permitted  to  take 
the  oars  from  her,  but  she  was  obdurate,  saying  that 
she  only  intended  to  rest  a  few  minutes  there,  where 
all  was  so  still,  and  then  row  back  to  the  shore.  The 
night  was  cloudy  and  no  one  walking  on  the  bank 
could  have  espied  them.  He  changed  his  seat  to 
the  one  by  her  side.  They  conversed  in  low  whis- 
pers, laughing  at  trifles  in  a  suppressed  way,  and 
neither  was  at  ease.  The  oars  had  been  placed  in 
position  on  the  edge  of  the  boat  and  nothing  pre- 


"THERE  ASS  TIGBM  iw  AHA."  14ft 

vented  Gerald  obeying  a  sudden  impulse  to  take 
Alma's  hand  in  his.  As  he  touched  it  all  the  blood 
in  his  body  seemed  tugging  at  his  brain. 

"  Let  us  not  go  in  !"  he  said,  in  a  whisper.  "  Let  us 
never  go  in  again  I" 

She  leaned  toward  him,  as  if  intoxicated  with  his 
words,  and  as  she  did  so  he  put  his  arms  about  her. 
As  long  as  he  had  known  her,  this  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  done  that  or  anything  approaching  it. 

The  boat  drifted  but  little.  There  was  no 
appreciable  current  in  the  lake,  which  had  an  outlet 
only  through  a  little  brook  that  ran  sluggishly 
toward  the  Mississippi,  wandering  five  miles  at  least 
to  every  one  that  a  crow's  flight  would  have  taken 
to  reach  its  destination.  Gerald  felt  the  yielding 
form  lying  close  against  him  and  the  effect  on  his 
unaccustomed  senses  was  most  powerful. 

Alma  raised  her  face  to  his.  She  had  loved  him 
all  her  life  and  now  must  be  the  beginning  of  that 
love's  fruition.  He  felt  her  breath  fanning  his  lips, 
but  he  was  afraid  to  touch  that  sweet  mouth  with  his 
own. 

"  A  moment,  my  love  !"  he  gasped. 

Astonished,  she  drew  herself  a  little  away. 

"  Not—not  too  far,"  he  articulated.  •'  In  a  minuU 
I  shall  be  myself." 

She  put  her  hand,  cool  and  moist  even  though  she 
trembled  with  excitement,  upon  his  head,  and  was 
•larmed  to  find  the  fever  that  raged  there. 

"You  are  not  well  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  he  answered.  "  Alma— I  think  I  never 
was  well  till  now." 

She  laid  her  cheek  to  his  and  for  some  time  ther* 


146  THE  «AKSTON  BIGAMY. 

was  no  sound  but  the  beating  of  their  hearts,  so 
near  together. 

"  I  shall  get  used  to  it,  after  awhile,"  were  his  first 
words,  "  but  at  present  you  affect  me  like  a  strong 
galvanic  battery.  Just  think,  I  am  nearly  twenty- 
three  and  yours  is  the  first  girl's  face  that  ever 
touched  mine." 

"  There  was  never  any  one  else  ?"  she  responded, 
shyly. 

"No,"  he  answered.     "And  there  never  can  be  !" 

With  such  interchanges  of  sentiment  they  passed 
the  next  ten  minutes,  and  then  Alma  roused  herself. 

"We  must  go  back,"  she  said.  "  It  is  dark,  and 
we  ought  to  be  on  the  way." 

"  How  can  you  be  so  prosaic  ! '  he  exclaimed.  "  It- 
is  always  light  where  you  are." 

Nevertheless  he  suffered  her  to  take  up  the  oars 
and  with  noiseless  motions  she  brought  the  boat  to 
its  landing.  He  assisted  her  to  tie  it  to  the  ring  in 
the  platform,  and  then  they  took  the  path  toward 
home.  As  they  passed  the  summer-house  gate  he 
held  back. 

"  It  is  still  early,"  he  said,  in  low  tones.  *'  Let 
us  go  in  for  a  little  while." 

"  But  there  is  no  one  there,"  was  her  answer. 

"Surely,  that  is  not  necessary." 

The  strong  sense  of  her  training  came  to  her 
rescue. 

"No,"  she  replied.  "We  will  go  to  my  house, 
and  sit  in  a  corner  of  the  veranda." 

He  wore  a  look  of  disappointment  as  he  started  to 
comply.  Seeing  that  he  did  not  seem  content  she 
asked  the  reason. 

"  You  do  not  trust  me,"  was  his  answer. 


"THERE  ARE  TIGERS  IN  ASIA."  147 

"  Because  I  would  rather  go  home  than  into  the 
•ummer-house  ?" 

"Yes." 

M  What  has  that  to  do  with  trusting  you  ?"  she 
msked,  simply. 

For  an  instant  he  felt  like  a  cross  between  an  idiot 
and  a  villain.  He  knew  that  the  half  formed 
thought  of  evil  that  had  forced  its  way  into  his  mind 
had  been  exhibited  in  all  its  naked  deformity.  She 
had  repelled  it,  not  with  anger  or  an  assumption  of 
superior  virtue,  but  by  a  refusal  to  understand.  He 
feared  that  she  never  could  forget  this  moment,  and 
he  cursed  the  folly  into  which  his  mad  humor  had 
led  him. 

"  Don't  make  a  serious  thing  of  it,  Alma,"  he  said, 
trying  to  force  a  laugh.  "  I  was  only  trying  you. 
Of  course  I  did  not  think  that  you  would  go  in  there, 
at  this  time  of  the  evening,  and  if  you  had  consented, 
I  should  have  refused.  Why,  it  would  be  preposter- 
ous !  Not  that  there  would  be  any  real  harm,  but  on 
account  of  what  it  would  give  people  a  chance  to  say. 
That  affair  in  the  boat  has  turned  my  head,  I  really 
believe.  Come,  let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

Alma  was  quite  willing  to  talk  of  other  things,  bat 
he  had  not  in  the  least  undeceived  her.  She  knew 
that  he  had  wanted  her  to  stop  at  the  summer-house, 
and  that  all  the  gossip  of  Mrs.  Grundy  that  might 
have  been  in  prospective  would  not  have  prevented 
his  going  had  she  not  objected.  But  what  girl  of 
nineteen  can  find  the  sun  of  her  first  day's  love  sky 
much  obscured  by  such  a  small  cloud  as  this? 
Before  they  had  reached  her  home  they  were  talk- 
ing brightly  of  other  things. 

Mr.  Adams  saw  them  coming,  and  went  to  tell  his 


148  THE   GARSTON   BIGAMY. 

wife  that  Alma  had  returned.  He  heard  their  steps 
on  the  veranda  and  discreetly  refrained  from  dis- 
turbing them.  As  long  as  they  were  together  he 
was  quite  content.  Never  doubting  that  his  daughter 
was  the  dearest  girl  on  earth  to  Gerald,  he  thought 
it  only  right  to  give  him  every  opportunity  to  be 
alone  with  her.  It  is  the  American  method,  and 
though  Mrs.  Adams,  having  had  a  different  training, 
sometimes  uttered  a  mild  protest,  she  always  suc- 
cumbed to  what  she  considered  her  husband's 
superior  judgment. 

She  had  supreme  confidence  in  her  daughter,  of 
course.  Was  there  ever  a  mother  who  did  not 
believe  that  her  daughter  could  be  trusted  under  all 
circumstances?  Other  women's  girls  might  forget, 
but  hers,  never !  And  yet,  since  the  world  began  to 
revolve  on  its  axis,  some  of  them  must  have  been 
mistaken. 

It  was  but  little  after  nine  o'clock  when  they  came 
upon  the  veranda,  but  it  was  much  later  when  they 
separated.  They  talked  of  everything,  from  the 
condition  of  the  weather  to  the  journey  of  Edith 
Staples. 

"  Do  you  know,'*  said  Alma,  suddenly,  "  I  was 
almost  inclined  to  be  jealous  of  dear  Edie  a  few 
weeks  ago  ?  Of  course  I  couldn't  really  have  been 
so,  but — somehow — you  seemed  just  as  attentive  to 
Her  as  you  did  to  me — and,  well,  it's  all  right  now. 
I  love  her  dearly,  and  I  wouldn't  have  anything 
come  between  us  for  the  world.  She  is  so  sweet, 
but  I  don't  believe  she  ever  will  marry.  When  I 
get  a  home  of  my  own  I  should  be  so  happy  if  she 
would  come  and  live  with  me." 

The  face  of  Edith  came  back  to  him,  the  sweet, 


"THERE  ABB  TIGERS  nr  ASIA."  H9 

gf  ntle,  truthful  face  that  had  looked  up  to  him  when 
her  confidence  in  his  honor  had  been  vouched  for. 
But  he  was  under  the  influence  of  a  stronger  nature, 
and  the  twinge  that  it  gave  him  was  only  momen- 
tary. 

"  How  did  you  choose  me  when  you  have  always 
had  her  near  you  ?"  was  the  next  thing  that  startled 
him.  '*  I  am  sure  she  is  much  the  better  looking, 
and  I  never  can  hope  to  compare  with^  her  in  grace. 
You  are  the  only  man  who  would  have  turned  to 
me  with  such  a  choice  before  him." 

*  No,  I  am  not,"  he  interrupted.  "  There  is  Cliff 
Nelson." 

She  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  that, 

"Why,  Cliff  has  been  crazy  over  you  ever  since  the 
first  day  I  brought  him  here.  He  has  taken  it  for 
granted  that  Edith  and  I  would  make  a  match,  and 
that  you  would  favor  him  when  you  put  me  out  of 
your  mind." 

"  Nonsense  !  He  never  showed  it,"  she  said,  much 
pleased,  nevertheless. 

**No,  it  is  true.  Cliff  is  too  bashful  for  anything. 
But  he  loves  you,  Alma.  He  will  be  all  broken  up 
when  he  hears  of  this,  and  I  suppose  he  must  hear 
some  time." 

Alma  gave  a  start. 

"  Oh,  no,  he  mustn't.  That  is,  I  mean,  for  ever  so 
long.  You  have  three  years  yet  before  you  ar« 
admitted  to  the  bar,  and  a  good  while  after  that 
before  you  can  get  into  a  practice.  I  don't  want  you  to 
tell  any  one,  and  I  shall  not,  either.  No,"  she  added, 
thoughtfully,  "not  even  Edie,  nor  my  father  or 


150  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMY. 

They  were  sitting  close  together  and  the  influence 
of  her  nearness  affected  him  strongly. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  going  to  wait 
years  and  years  for  you  ?  Why,  it  seems  horrible 
cruelty  that  I  must  watch  the  clock  to-night  even." 
He  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  Look  at  those  racing 
hands  !  It  is  a  quarter  past  ten,  and  they  are  doing 
their  best  to  make  it  twenty  minutes.  It  will  be 
eleven  soon,  and  then  twelve.  And  when  my  limit 
is  up,  I  must  go  and  leave  you  !" 

His  arm  was  about  the  back  of  her  chair,  and  she 
shrank  into  its  curves  very  prettily. 

"The  folks  are  ab^d  long  ago,"  said  she,  "and 
there  is  no  hurry.  You  can  stay  as  long  as  you 
wish." 

"But  still  I  shall  have  to  go,"  he  responded,  with  a 
clouded  face.  "  No  matter  how  long  I  stay,  I  shall 
have  to  go  at  last.  That  is  what  spoils  everything." 

She  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  of  what  was  in 
his  words. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  we  shall  not  have  to 
wait  many  years.  Perhaps  you  will  get  a  law  prac- 
tice very  soon  after  your  admission  that  we  can  live 
on,  in  a  very  quiet  way,  of  course.  It  will  not  take 
much,  I  think,  for  a  year  or  two.  My  father  will 
give  me  all  that  I  shall  want  at  the  start,  and  he 
would  lend  you  some  money,  if  you  needed  it." 

This  grated  severely  on  Gerald's  sensitiveness. 

"  My  own  father  would  do  that,"  he  replied,quickly. 
"But  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  think  of  any  thing  like 
years  in  connection  with  waiting  for  you.  Months 
seem  too  long,  even  weeks." 

He  turned  upon  her  with  the  force  of  sudden  pas- 
•ion  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers.  For  a  moment  she 


"THERE  ABB  TIGERS  IN  ASIA."  151 

abandoned  herself  to  the  delirium,  and  then  she 
gently  drew  herself  away  from  him. 

"  Hush  1"  she  whispered,  soothingly.  "  We  must 
be  very  wise  and  sensible.  There  is  nothing  to  do 
but  wait.  In  a  few  weeks  you  will  be  back  at  your 
studies,  and  then,  with  so  much  to  occupy  your 
mind,  the  time  will  pass  more  rapidly." 

"And  you,"  he  said,  "will  be  at  the  Seminary, 
within  a  few  miles  of  me,  and  I  shall  see  you  often, 
as  I  have  been  doing.  Do  you  think  I  can  pore 
over  Coke  and  Chitty  with  your  countenance  ever 
before  me  ?  No.  I  shall  think  of  you  all  day,  visit 
you  every  evening,  and  lie  awake  dreaming  of  you  all 
night." 

This  vivid  statement  of  probabilities  made  Alma 
laugh  softly. 

"  I  will  go  to  some  other  school  if  it  will  help 
you  any,"  she  said.  "  There  are  plenty  that  are 
hundreds  of  miles  away.  What  is  there  to  keep  you 
from  getting  along  as  well  as  you  have  done  during 
the  last  year  ?" 

He  laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder. 

"  It  will  never  be  the  same  again,"  he  answered. 

*  /  shall  never  be  the  same.     Nothing  will  be  as  it 
used.     I  had  not  kissed  you  then.     There  are  tigers 
in  Asia,  I  have  read,  that  having  tasted  human  flesh 
will  eat  no  other  food.     Alma,  you    have  made  a 
tiger  of  me  !" 

She  bent  her  head  and  touched  her  cheek  to  hi*, 
"  A  terrible    fate !"    she    exclaimed    humorously. 

•  To  be  eaten  alive  daily  by  a  ravenous  beast  I" 

Gerald  tasted  the  lips  again,  and  then  sat  upright. 
* I  cannot  bear  it  1"  he  cried.    "  There  is  but  one 


198  THE   GARSTON    BIGAMY, 

/ 

choice  for  as,  Alma.  Either  we  must  be  married 
speedily,  or  I  must  not  be  alone  with  you  !" 

Her  heart  beat  wildly,  though  her  reason  was  in 
arms  against  him. 

a  Do  not  speak  like  that,  I  beg  you  /*  she  said.  "  A 
speedy  marriage  is  out  of  the  question.  We  are 
both  too  young.  We  must  wait.  Fix  your  mind  on 
that  fact,  and  be  strong." 

Gerald  stood  up  and  stretched  his  arms  above  his 
head. 

"Let  me  go  now,  at  least,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper. 
**I  shall  come  to  you  to-morrow  with  more  sense  in 
my  head.  To-night  I  have  none — absolutely  none. 
If  I  were  to  kiss  you  again,  I  should  bite  you.  Yes, 
I  am  in  danger  of  becoming  a  tiger  indeed." 

She  felt  the  tears  rising  to  her  eyes,  but  with  a 
powerful  effort  she  repressed  them. 

"  iif  you  must  go,  good-night,"  she  said.  "  You 
know  best.  Whatever  you  have  said  or  may  say, 
whatever  you  have  thought  or  may  think,  I  love  you. 
No,"  she  stepped  backward,  as  he  essayed  to  clasp 
her  waist,  "  I  think  it  is  not  wise  to-night.  We  have 
been  very  happy — I  have,  at  least.  Come  in  the 
morning  and  I  will  sing  for  you." 

He  had  his  hat  off  and  was  brushing  his  hair  back 
with  his  hand. 

"  There  is  one  way,"  he  said,  "  which  would  make 
everything  right,  if  you  loved  me  enough  to  do  it. 
We  might  have  a  secret  marriage,  and  later,  we  could 
have  the  public  one,  just  the  same,  and  nobody  know 
the  difference.  It  has  been  done  that  way  often,  and 
there  is  no  possibility  of  harm." 

Alma  looked  the  least  bit  insulted  as  she  heard 


"THESE  ABB  TIGERS  IN  ASIA."  153 

"  What  for  ?"  she  asked.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  losing 
me  ?  Do  you  think  I  can  ever  change  ?" 

"  No  !"  he  cried.     "  But  I  want  you  now  f* 

She  stood  there  a  minute,  revolving  the  proposi- 
tion in  her  mind.  From  the  bottom  of  her  soul  she 
pitied  him. 

"  It  could  not  be,"  she  said,  slowly,  at  last.  "  It 
would  be  wronging  my  parents,  who  have  a  right  to 
know  every  act  of  mine  of  such  great  importance  as 
that.  It  would  be  wronging  myself,  Gerald  ;  it 
would  be  wronging  you.  This  is  a  temporary  ebul- 
lition and  will  pass  away.  Let  me  be  a  help  to  your 
life,  not  a  hindrance.  Go  on  with  your  studies  and 
when  the  right  time  comes — and  I  assure  you  I  am 
as  anxious  for  the  day  as  you — we  will  be  united 
before  the  world.  I  could  not  bear  to  carry  a  secret 
from  my  father  and  mother,  and  whatever  the  cere- 
mony by  which  we  were  joined,  I  should  feel  guilty." 

Like  oil  on  troubled  waters  were  the  words  of  the 
maiden.  The  young  man's  brow  cleared  and  he  drew 
Alma  to  his  side  with  a  tender  movement. 

"  I  am  not  good  enough  for  you  !"  he  said,  his 
voice  choking.  "  But  you  shall  hear  nothing  more 
like  this.  Be  as  gentle  with  me  as  you  can,  and  time 
will  make  it  all  right  with  us." 

The  tears  she  had  held  back  flew  to  her  eyes  as 
she  gazed  after  his  form,  which  soon  vanished  among 
the  trees  that  bordered  the  winding  avenue. 


154  THE  GARSTON   BIGAMY. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

ALMA'S  CAMBRIC  WRAPPER. 

All  Jefferson  was  awake  to  the  fact  that  something 
was  going  to  happen.  It  was  whispered  about  the 
village  that  John  Garston  had  at  last  been  unable,  by 
any  means  that  he  could  summon,  to  pay  his  inter- 
est to  the  Iowa  Investment  Company,  and  that  his 
farm  would  be  sold  at  public  auction  to  the  highest 
bidder  as  soon  as  the  necessary  formalities  could  be 
gone  through  with.  The  mysterious  way  in  which 
he  had  met  the  difficulties  of  former  years  were  re- 
hearsed among  the  townspeople,  and  some  predicted 
that  the  luck  of  finding  some  way  out  of  the  dilem- 
ma would  again  be  his.  But  the  greater  number 
said  his  time  had  come.  They  said  that  a  first  mort- 
gage with  interest  in  arrears,  a  second  mortgage  of 
unusual  size,  and  a  mortgage  on  every  animal  and 
tool  on  his  place  could  not  be  carried  forever.  The 
price  of  wheat  was  low  that  year,  and  even  if  it  had 
been  higher  it  would  not  have  saved  him,  for  in  pur- 
suance of  a  custom  not  uncommon  in  the  West  he 
had  pledged  the  entire  crop  as  it  grew  to  money- 
lenders, in  exchange  for  "accommodation."  No, 
said  the  people  who  knew  these  things,  the  Garston 
farm  must  go. 

Who  would  purchase  it  ?  They  were  not  long  in 
deciding  that  question.  Who  purchased  everything 
in  the  way  of  land  that  was  offered  in  Jefferson? 
Why,  Alvah  Adams,  of  course,  the  man  whose  purse 
Itemed  always  fulL  The  Garston  place  joined  his, 


ALMA'S  CAMBKIC  WRAPPER.  155 

and  besides,  his  possession  of  it  would  settle  the 
vexed  subject  of  the  mill-power.  Once  in  his  hands 
no  one  could  scare  him  again  with  threats  to  cut  off 
the  water  from  his  profitable  grist-mill. 

Garston  said  nothing  to  any  one  about  his  troubles. 
The  notice  of  intent  to  foreclose  appeared  in  the 
county  paper.  There  was  but  a  few  weeks  lacking 
of  the  time  when  the  auctioneer  would  stand  with 
his  hammer  on  the  steps  of  the  house  and  offer  it  to 
whoever  chose  to  buy.  This  land  that  he  had  found 
in  the  midst  of  a  wilderness,  and  had  broken  to  the 
plow  almost  literally  with  his  own  hands  ;  this  dwell- 
ing that  he  had  reared,  in  which  his  wife  had  died 
and  his  son  been  born  ;  these  stables  and  graneries 
which  had  held  his  stock  and  wheat  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  all  must  be  sacrificed  to  meet  the  de- 
mands of  creditors  who  had  never  even  seen  them. 
That  subtle  thing  called  interest,  which  labors  day 
and  night,  in  fair  weather  and  foul,  amid  the  snows 
of  winter  and  the  scorching  days  of  summer,  whether 
crops  be  large  or  small,  whether  the  one  who  owes 
it  be  sick  or  well,  had  done  the  business  for  him. 
Long  years  ago  he  had  admitted  the  monster  to  his 
house  and  it  had  stubbornly  refused  to  budge, 
though  fed  with  twice  its  bulk  of  bread  and  meat. 
It  had  sapped  his  strength,  his  courage  and  his  pow- 
er to  produce  even  the  food  which  it  demanded,  and 
now  it  purposed  strangling  him,  that  it  might  claim 
all  he  had  for  its  own. 

Gerald  did  not  see  the  notice  in  the  newspaper. 
He  cared  little  for  the  county  news,  and  had  he  read 
the  paper  he  would  have  been  very  unlikely  to  notice 
such  a  thing  as  an  advertisement  of  foreclosure.  But 
wfcen  it  had  appeared  twice,  and  he  had  not  shown 


15$  THE    GAKSTON   BIGAMT. 

in  any  way  that  he  knew  of  it,  Mr.  Adams  thought 
it  his  duty  to  have  a  talk  with  him  and  advance  a 
proposition. 

The  shock  to  the  young  man  when  he  was  made 
to  understand  the  situation  was  very  great.  Until 
that  moment  he  had  not  known  that  his  father  wai 
indebted  to  any  man  to  the  value  of  a  penny.  Mr. 
Adams  told  him  the  whole  truth,  in  the  kindest  and 
most  sympathetic  manner.  Gerald  proposed  various 
ways  of  tiding  over  the  difficulties  which  clustered 
about  his  parent,  but  he  was  compelled  to  tear  out 
the  supports  from  under  them,  one  by  one.  The 
first  mortgage  was  equal  to  sixty  per  cent,  of  the 
value  of  the  property.  The  second  covered  very 
nearly  all  the  rest.  Other  incumbrances  entangled 
everything  else  that  might  have  been  availed  of  in 
the  emergency. 

Til  tell  you  the  whole  truth,  painful  as  it  is," 
said  Mr.  Adams,  "  it  is  best  that  you  should  not  be 
deceived  in  any  way." 

"And  my  father,  in  the  loving  kindness  of  his 
heart,  has  kept  it  all  a  secret,"  said  Gerald,  sadly. 
"  He  has  sent  me  to  school  with  money  that  he  could 
not  afford  to  pay  for  that  purpose.  He  has  labored 
on  alone,  when  I  might  have  been  of  some  use  to  him 
and  has  borne  his  burden  without  telling  me  of  its 
existence.  It  will  now  be  for  me  to  do  something 
in  return,  if  indeed  I  am  fit  for  anything." 

Mr.  Adams  bowed  approvingly,  saying  that  these 
sentiments  did  honor  to  his  young  friend. 

"There  is  something  more  that  I  must  tell  you," 
he  added.  "  For  reasons  which  I  cannot  feel  are 
any  fault  of  mine  I  have  incurred  the  enmity  of 
your  father." 


CAMBRIC   STRAPPER.  157 


"  Nothing  more  than  arose  out  of  a  controversy 
upon  the  mill-stream  question,  I  think,"  Gerald  has- 
tened to  interrupt. 

"  It  is  much  older  and  deeper  than  that,"  replied 
Mr.  Adams.  "  It  is  unnecessary  to  go  into  it,  for  I 
might  not  be  able  to  state  the  case  as  fairly  as  one 
unprejudiced  could  do  it.  Whatever  the  reason,  your 
father  hates  me  cordially.  The  suit  you  speak  of 
went  against  him  and  his  friends,  and  he  has  since 
threatened  to  cut  the  bank  of  the  brook  where  it 
borders  on  his  land  and  shut  off  my  power.  The 
result  would  be  to  deluge  a  large  part  of  his  own 
territory,  to  his  injury  ;  but  I  think  he  intends  to 
carry  out  the  scheme.  This  would  of  course  result 
in  a  loss  to  me  financially  and  in  no  gain  to  him. 
What  I  want  to  say  to  you  is  this  :  In  the  event  of 
the  sale  of  his  place,  which  it  seems  now  can  hardly 
be  prevented,  this  state  of  affairs  will  compel  me, 
lor  my  own  protection,  to  be  a  bidder." 

The  young  man  heard  with  wonder.  It  was  all  so 
new  to  him  that  he  could  not  comprehend  it  in  all 
its  bearings.  He  only  said,  "  Yes,  sir,"  and  waited 
for  Mr.  Adams  to  proceed. 

"  I  need  not  say,"  said  the  mill-owner,  "  that  I 
have  the  greatest  regard  for  you.  I  have  felt  erer 
since  you  were  big  enough  to  walk  over  here  and 
take  Alma  to  school  as  if  you  were  almost  a  son  of 
my  own,  and  this  unhappy  disagreement  has  given 
me  particular  uneasiness  on  your  account.  I  have 
feared  that  it  would  trouble  —  my  —  my  daughter- 
end  make  annoyance  for  both  of  you,  which  I  natur- 
ally wished  to  avoid  if  possible.  You  —  you  under- 
stand  me?" 

«  Yes/'  said  Gerald.     «  I  understand." 


158  THE  GAESTON   BIQAMT. 

At  the  same  time  he  wondered  if  he  did 

"I  want  to  prevent  any  rupture  that  will  trouble 
you  and  Alma,"  proceeded  the  elder  man.  "  I  want 
you  to  feel  that  you  have  a  friend  in  me  on  whom 
you  can  call — -you  can  caJ — as  freely  as  if  there 
had  never  been  any  feeling  against  me  on  your 
father's  part.  At  the  same  time,  as  a  business  man, 
I  wish  to  protect  my  mill." 

Gerald  said  "Certainly,"  like  one  in  a  dream. 

"What  I  wish  to  propose,"  continued  Mr.  Adams, 
"is  this:  I  will  attend  the  sale  of  the  farm,  and,  if 
possible,  become  its  purchaser.  After  that  I  will 
leave  it  in  your  hands  to  do  what  you  please  with, 
and  you  can  arrange  with  your  father  to  remain  and 
cultivate  the  soil  as  he  has  always  done,  if  he  desires. 
When  you  have  finished  your  law  studies,  and  be- 
come successful,  you  can  redeem  the  estate,  only 
ceding  to  me  enough  to  make  my  ownership  in  the 
brook  beyond  question. 

Mr.  Adams  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  for  they  were 
sitting  in  his  parlor,  with  the  air  of  one  who  wanted 
to  know  if  anything  could  be  fairer  than  that. 

"I  do  not  quite  see,"  said  Gerald,  "how  I  am  to 
pursue  my  studies  any  longer.  If  my  father  is 
penniless,  I  cannot  ask  him  to  labor  for  me  while  I 
continue  idle.  It  will  be  my  place  to  relinquish  my 
career  and  do  something  in  return  for  the  sacrifices 
he  has  made." 

"  A  very  natural  thought,"  said  Mr.  Adams,  "  and 
one  that  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  utter.  But  the  best 
service  you  can  render  your  father  is  to  continue 
your  studies  and  get  into  a  position  to  earn  a  good 
deal  more  than  you  could  ever  hope  to  do  in  ordi- 
•ary  ways.  Two  or  three  years  of  successful  law 


ALMA'S   CAMBRIC    WRAPPER.  15fc 

practice — and  I  could  aid  you  a  good  deal  in  getting 
established — would  bring  more  than  three  times  as 
much  as  if  spent  in  ordinary  avocations.  In  this 
world  it  does  not  do  to  think  of  to-day  alone.  We 
must  keep  an  eye  on  the  future.  If  your  father 
should  not  feel  able  to  furnish  you  the  means  to 
continue  your  studies,  though  with  the  plan  I 
have  outlined  he  ought  to  have  no  trouble  in  so 
doing,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  lend  you  the 
necessary  amount — lend  you,  on  your  personal  note 
— and  let  you  return  it  at  your  leisure,  when  you 
feel  able,  in  later  years." 

Gerald  thanked  him  and  said  that  he  would  con- 
sider  the  matter.  He  wanted  time  to  think.  The 
truth  was,  he  found  the  whole  recital  very  disagree- 
able. It  is  not  pleasant  to  learn  that  one's  father  is 
bankrupt  and  that  one  may  have  to  depend  on  the 
bounty  of  others  for  the  comforts  of  life,  and  it  is 
difficult  to  be  thankful  in  the  proper  degree  to  the 
person  who  brings  us  the  tidings,  no  matter  how 
generous  or  considerate  he  may  appear.  Gerald 
went  to  find  Alma,  and  after  a  short  talk  with  her, 
excused  himself  on  account  of  work  in  his  study 
which  he  felt  obliged  to  do.  He  walked  back  to  his 
father's  thinking  what  a  dreary  world  this  was,  after 
all.  As  he  turned  into  the  familiar  gate,  which  was 
to  belong  to  his  family  but  a  few  days  longer,  he 
could  have  wept  outright  with  vexation. 

John  Garston  saw  that  something  unusual  had 
happened,  as  soon  as  his  eyes  rested  on  the  clouded 
face  of  his  son,  and  suspected  that  the  inevitable 
knowledge  had  come  to  him — that  knowledge  that 
he  had  tried  more  than  once  to  impart  and  had 
never  found  himself  quite  able  to  do  so. 


100  THE  OABSTON  BWAMT. 

"What's  the  matter,  Gerald  ?"  he  asked,  with  un- 
usual solicitude  in  his  tone.  "  You  do  not  look  happy. '• 

Gerald  tried  to  say  something,  but  for  a  minute 
he  could  not  articulate  a  single  word.  Then  he 
broke  out,  passionately : 

"Oh,  father,  why  have  you  kept  it  from  me  so 
long?" 

"  Why  should  I  have  told  you  ?  Would  it  have 
made  you  any  happier?"  was  the  answer.  "  I  want- 
ed you  to  get  your  profession  first.  There  is  no 
money  for  an  honest  man  in  farming.  It  takes  a 
schemer  to  amass  a  fortune  out  of  land — such  a  man 
as  Alvah  Adams  ! "  he  added,  with  flashing  eyes. 
"A  lawyer  is  all  right  any  where.  I  hoped  you  would 
be  ready  to  get  your  own  living  before  the  crash 
came,  but  I  guess  it's  on  us  now." 

He  spoke  with  a  quiet  resignation  that  surprised 
the  young  man,  and  made  him  hope  that  he  would 
avail  himself  of  the  olive  branch  which  he  could 
offer. 

*'  What  has  made  you  so  bitter  against  Mr. 
Adams  ?"  he  asked.  "  He  would  help  us,  I  am  sure, 
in  an  emergency  like  this." 

" Would  he?"  The  resigned  air  was  gone,  and 
an  expression  of  intense  hatred  took  its  place.  "  I 
hope  he'll  wait  till  somebody  asks  him.  I've  no 
doubt  he'd  like  to  help  me,  and  so  get  some  hold  on 
you.  Gerald,"  he  spoke  now  with  earnestness,  "I 
trust  there  has  been  nothing  serious  between  you 
and  Alma  !  I  would  rather  see  you  in  your  grave 
than  to  have  you  join  your  blood  to  his  !" 

The  young"  man  oaled  before  the  question,  put  in 
the  way  it  was. 

"  There  is  nothing— there  must  be  nothing  1  * 


ALMA'S  CAMBRIC  WRAPPER.  161 

§ued  the  aroused  father.  "  Edith  Staples  Jbves  you 
and  you  have  given  her  cause  to  think  that  your 
mind  is  fixed  on  her.  She  is  worth  a  thousand 
Adamses.  Her  father  has  always  treated  me  like  a 
gentleman.  It  would  make  me  happy  to  see  her 
your  wife.  But  if  you  should  so  far  forget  my 
wishes  as  to  marry  the  other  one — " 

He  paused,  overcome  by  the  violence  of  his  emo- 
tions, and  then  added — 

"  We  should  have  to  be  strangers,  my  boy,  from 
that  day." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  nature  of  Gerald  to 
withstand  an  onslaught  like  this.  His  love  for  his 
father  had  always  been  strong,  and  this  morning  it 
had  been  newly  aroused  by  the  light  thrown  upon 
the  kindness  of  that  parent  in  bearing  his  griefs 
alone,  that  he  might  have  a  calm,  untroubled  ride 
on  the  sea  of  life.  He  forgot  the  words  he  had  so 
recently  exchanged  with  Alma,  forgot  for  the  mo- 
ment everything  but  the  debt  he  owed  to  this,  the 
only  relation  whom  he  knew. 

"  Nothing  shall  come  between  us,  father,"  he  said, 
firmly. 

John  Garston  caught  his  son  to  his  breast  as 
though  he  were  only  a  child. 

"  I  knew  it !"  he  cried.  "  I  knew  I  could  rely 
upon  you  !  You  have  some  of  my  spirit  in  you, 
after  all !  And  you  will  not  marry  against  my 
will  ?" 

Gerald's  heart  grew  cold  in  his  bosom,  but  he 
answered— 

"No." 

"You  must  leave  it  to  me  to  arrange  in  my  own 
way,"  he  added,  presently.  "  I  must  have  lull  lib- 


163  THE   GAJJSTON    BXOAMY. 

erty  to  sec  Alma,  and  part  from  her  as  pleasantly  as 
I  can.  We  have  been  intimate  from  babyhood,  and 
it  will  take  a  little  time.  Yes — it  will  take — a  little 
time." 

Gerald  began  the  task  assigned  him  that  very 
afternoon,  by  going  to  make  Alma  a  call.  She 
noted  his  extreme  paleness,  but  when  she  com- 
mented upon  it,  he  said  he  had  a  headache.  Noth- 
ing would  content  her  but  that  he  must  lie  on  a 
sofa  in  the  sitting-room,  and  let  her  bind  up  his 
head  in  camphor  water.  Though  he  protested  at 
first  he  found  it  not  unpleasant  when  she  sat  by  his 
side  and  held  one  of  his  hands  in  hers,  while  with 
her  other  hand  she  smoothed  back  the  hair  from  his 
temples,  which  were  really  throbbing  now. 

Alma  was  dad  that  afternoon  in  a  light  cambric 
wrapper,  which  in  its  simplicity  became  her  figuro 
well.  Her  dark  eyes  grew  luminous  from  sheer  ten- 
derness, as  they  shone  upon  him,  and  he  wondered 
how  he  could  ever  bring  himself  to  say  to  her  what 
he  had  promised  to  do.  After  a  while  he  changed 
his  head  from  the  pillow  to  her  lap,  saying  that  the 
former  position  made  the  ache  worse,  and  the  longer 
he  lay  there  the  harder  it  seemed  to  him  to  take  the 
step  he  had  contemplated. 

"I  cannot  lie  here,"  he  said,  finally.  "All  the 
blood  in  me  seems  to  rush  to  my  head.  Let  me  try 
sitting  up  a  little  while  ;  and  won't  you  give  me  a 
brush,  so  that  I  can  make  my  hair  look  like  that  of 
a  Christian." 

She  brought  the  brush,  but  insisted  on  arranging 
the  hair  herself,  and  as  she  bent  over  It,  he  felt  her 
warm  and  fragrant  breath  on  his  cheek. 

"  You  can  do  it  better  this  way,"  he  said,  drawing 


ALJLA/i    CAMBRIC   WRAPPER.  16S 

her  upon  his  knee.  She  made  no  objection  to  the 
new  position,  but  went  on  with  her  work,  stretching 
her  neck  to  see  where  the  parting  ought  to  be.  This 
brought  her  fair  throat  within  easy  distance  of  his 
lips. 

**  If  you  do  that,  I  can't  finish  your  hair,"  she  said, 
drawing  her  dimpled  chin  down  over  the  place  he 
had  caressed. 

"  The  hair  is  a  secondary  matter,"  he  answered. 
"  I  would  have  gone  away  looking  like  a  Comanche 
chief,  rather  than  have  missed  that  opportunity." 

She  called  him  a  silly  fellow,  but  she  did  not  act 
as  if  she  thought  so,  and  after  finishing  the  parting 
she  continued  to  sit  there  on  his  knee,  putting  one 
hand  on  his  shoulder  as  a  balance. 

"  That's  a  pretty  dress  you  have  on,"  he  commen- 
ted. 

"  Is  it  ?  The  cost  was  twelve  cents  a  yard.  You 
see  it  is  not  expensive  to  clothe  girls,"  she  responded, 
demurely. 

"Oh,  but  they  wear  so  many  other  things !  " 

"  Yes,  they  do  wear  some"  She  hesitated,  laugh- 
ing and  blushing.  "  But  the  entire  outfit  can  be  had 
for  very  little  money.  Mamma  has  always  claimed 
that  extravagance  in  clothing  is  almost  a  sin,  and 
she  has  brought  me  up  with  fixed  ideas  on  the  mat- 
ter of  economy." 

"Your  husband  will  owe  her  thanks,"  he  said, 
blandly. 

In  spite  of  all  he  had  promised  his  father,  and  al- 
though he  fully  meant  in  some  way  to  carry  out  that 
promise,  he  could  not  bear  to  give  up  thinking  just 
a  little  longer  of  this  beautiful  creature  as  a  possible 
Mrs.  Garston.  It  was  delicious  merely  to  hold  hw 


104  n 

on  his  knee,  and  to  see  the  Joving  glances  that  shot 
at  him  every  time  she  raised  those  wonderful  eyes  to 
his  face.  He  tried,  even  with  Alma  there  in  his  lap, 
to  think  of  Edith,  but  he  felt  there  was  no  compar- 
ison from  a  physical  point  of  view. 

And  yet  it  was  Edith  and  not  Alma  that  he  must 
have.  Had  not  his  father  decreed  it,  and  had  he  not, 
in  a  moment  of  weakness,  accepted  the  decree  ? 

Alma  sat  on  his  knee  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  then  remarking  that  she  weighed  a  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds  and  knew  he  must  be  getting  tired, 
though  he  was  too  courteous  to  tell  her  so,  rose  and 
took  a  seat  on  the  sofa  opposite  to  him. 

They  talked  of  nothings  for  some  time  after  that, 
acting  much  as  lovers  usually  do. 

"  Do  you  really  weigh  a  hundred  and  twenty  ?  "  he 
asked,  suddenly. 

"  Precisely.  I  was  weighed  yesterday  in  the  vil- 
lage." 

"You  have  a  very  small  foot  for  that  weight." 

She  tried  to  hide  the  small  foot  under  her  gown, 
saying  it  was  impertinent  for  him  to  notice  it,  and 
that  it  was  not  remarkably  small,  anyway. 

"  If  you  like  small  feet,  you  should  pin  your  faith 
on  Edith, "  she  said.  "  She  wears  a  whole  size  small- 
er  shoe  than  I." 

He  said  he  did  not  think  feet  that  were  out  of  pro- 
portion made  their  owner  any  more  beautiful.  To 
this  she  answered  that  as  Edith  weighed  only  a  hun- 
dred and  ten,  and  was  taller  than  she  by  several 
inches,  her  tiny  feet  were  a  great  addition  to  her 
good  looks. 

u  It's  only  because  you  like  me  the  best,"  she  said, 
as  a  summing  up.  "  I  feel  the  same  about  you.  I 


ALMA'S  CAMBBIO  WRAPPER.  165 

would  give  more  for  your  smallest  finger  than  for 
the  entire  body  of  any  other  person." 

He  laughed,  for  she  had  put  him  into  such  good 
humor  that  the  headache  had  taken  wings  and  flown 
away.  He  might  not  be  able  to  marry  this  girl,  but 
it  was  very  agreeable  indeed  to  know  that  she  cared 
for  him.  He  wondered  if  she  would  take  it  much  to 
heart  when  he  had  to  tell  her  that  the  separation  was 
inevitable.  She  did  not  seem  as  if  she  would  cry 
herself  into  a  consumption.  She  would  understand 
his  position  and  not  blame  him  for  what  he  could 
not  help.  It  would  be  as  hard  for  him  as  for  her, 
too,  and  she  ought  to  feel  that. 

When  should  he  tell  her  ?  Not  yet,  at  least.  Not 
before  Edith  came  home.  He  pictured  to  himself  a 
week  without  either  of  them,  and  it  looked  like  a 
very  dismal  prospect. 

Alma  saw  that  he  had  become  thoughtful  and  she 
tried  to  rally  him,  with  only  partial  success. 

"If  any  one  should  try  to  separate  us,"  he  said  as 
they  were  standing  at  the  door,  "what  would  you 
do?" 

"  Keep  my  word,"  was  her  calm  answer. 

"Supposing  your  parents  objected.  Supposing 
they  said  to  you  that  they  would  never  consent  ?" 

Knowing  that  her  father  and  mother  fully 
approved  of  her  choice,  this  did  not  give  the  girl  any 
uneasiness,  and  her  reply  was  prompt. 

"  I  should  feel  that  the  matter  was  one — the  only 
one  perhaps  in  the  world — in  which  I  was  justified 
in  disregarding  their  wishes." 

"  But,'  he  persisted,  "  if  they  told  you  that  such  a 
marriage  would  forever  cut  you  off  from  them — that 


166  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMT. 

they  would  never  afterward  recognize  you  as  their 
child  ?  " 

She  put  her  round  arms  about  his  neck  in  all  her 
innocent  truth  and  love. 

"  I  should  take  you  against  them  all,  Gerald,  for  I 
should  feel  that  they  were  abusing  the  claim  of 
relationship  when  they  tried  to  make  my  life 
unhappy." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her,  wondering  what  there 
was  in  him  to  make  so  beautiful  a  being  show  this 
devotion. 

Then  he  went  to  his  home,  with  his  problem 
farther  than  ever  from  solution. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CUTTING  THE  MILL-BANK. 

Edith  wrote  to  Gerald  twice  each  week,  and  he 
answered  her  as  often.  He  had  been  trying  to 
accustom  himself  to  thinking  of  her  as  an  inevitable 
partner  for  life,  and  the  letters  constituted  a  sort  of 
practice  in  ante-matrimonial  confidences.  With  the 
contrariness  which  seems  a  part  of  some  natures  he 
had  begun  to  like  Edith  less  from  the  moment  when 
his  father  had  selected  her  as  the  girl  who  must  be 
his  wife.  He  still  liked  her  a  great  deal,  but  the 
parental  direction  to  take  her  detracted  from  that 
fondness  which  formerly  made  it  impossible  to  tell 
any  difference  between  her  and  Alma. 

There  was  a  difference  now,  and  it  was  all  in  f?.vor 
of  the  magnetic  creature  who  held  his  senses  in  thrall 
whenever  he  was  in  her  presence,  whose  face  and 


CUTTING   THE    MILL-BANK.  167 

voice  and  the  touch  of  whose  hand  followed  him 
even  to  his  dreams.  But  he  wrote  to  Edith  such 
letters  as  he  used  to  write  when  he  first  went  to 
school,  joined  to  a  few  more  tender  things  which  he 
thought  the  coming  conditions  warranted.  Her 
letters  to  him  were  sweet  and  tender,  without  any- 
thing like  passion — merely  the  missives  of  a  pure 
girl  to  the  one  she  loves  and  trusts  and  in  whom  she 
has  never  thought  of  having  the  least  doubt. 

Little  more  was  said  by  Gerald  and  his  father  to 
each  other  about  the  impending  sale  of  their  home. 
The  violent  opposition  of  Mr.  Garston  to  the 
Adamses  shut  out  all  hopes  of  rescue  that  his  son 
had  formed  in  that  quarter,  and  there  was  no  other 
part  of  the  horizon  in  which  they  could  discern  a  ray 
of  light.  As  far  as  either  of  them  could  see,  an  even- 
ing was  coming  very  soon  when  they  would  have  to 
find  another  shelter.  Gerald  had  been  so  unaccus- 
tomed to  thinking  for  himself  in  money  matters  that 
he  relied  upon  his  father  to  point  out  his  path  when 
the  crash  should  come.  Mr.  Garston,  foreseeing 
that  all  he  could  raise  would  not  suffice  to  satisfy 
the  charges  due  on  his  property,  had  provided  as 
well  for  the  immediate  future  as  he  could  by  keep- 
ing all  he  received,  and  thus  there  was  a  few 
hundred  dollars  ready  for  immediate  necessities. 
They  would  have  time  "to  look  about"  and  decide 
what  it  was  best  to  try  to  do. 

Gerald  passed  his  time  as  he  had  hitherto  done, 
visiting  Alma,  writing  to  Edith  and  lying  at  full 
length  in  the  hammock  under  the  trees  in  the 
orchard.  There  seemed  little  use  in  studying  law 
books  when  it  was  so  unlikely  that  he  should  ever 
g«t  back  into  the  office  of  Thurston  &  Thurston. 


1(58  THE   GARSTOIT  BIGAMY. 

Things  went  on  in  this  way  till  just  a  week  before 
the  auction  was  announced,  when  a  rumor  flew 
through  the  town  that  Garston  had  begun  to  carry 
out  his  threat  of  tearing  down  the  bank  of  the 
brook,  as  it  passed  his  land  on  the  way  to  the 
reservoir. 

Gerald  and  Alma  had  gone  on  a  stroll  through 
the  woods  on  the  morning  when  this  news  startled 
the  inhabitants  of  Jefferson.  Nearly  everybody  else 
in  the  town  heard  of  it  and  the  road  leading  to  the 
vicinity  was  thronged  with  eager  sight-seers  within 
the  next  hour.  Some  of  the  people  who  came  sym- 
pathized with  Adams,  some  with  Garston,  some  were 
free  in  their  expressions  that  both  of  them  were 
fools,  and  the  great  majority  cared  for  nothing  what- 
ever but  to  see  "  the  fun."  It  was  not  a  very  large 
job  that  had  to  be  done  to  turn  the  waters  of  the 
stream  upon  Garston's  land  and  let  it  flow  past  the 
artificial  reservoir  into  its  natural  course.  Six  good 
diggers  with  picks  and  shovels,  who  could  tear  away 
the  bank  and  use  the  materials  to  dam  the  current 
on  one  side  could  do  the  work  in  two  or  three  hours. 
Garston  had  this  number  at  work,  eagerly  assisting 
them  with  his  own  hands,  directing  the  labor  at 
the  same  time  in  a  low  voice,  and  seeming  not  to 
notice  the  crowd  that  came  to  stand  and  comment. 
It  was  the  most  exciting  episode  that  Jefferson  had 
ever  had  in  its  entire  history,  corresponding  to  a 
great  railway  strike  or  mill-lockout  in  a  larger 
centre. 

"  He's  doing  it  this  time,  Alvah,"  said  an  old  man, 
who  came  up  to  the  grist-mill.  "You  ought  to  see 
the  dirt  fly  1  By  twelve  o'clock  he  will  have  all  the 


THE  HILL-BANS.  I6t 

water  In  the  brook  run  off,  and  your  mill  will  stand 
as  still  as  a  post." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Hewlett  ?"  was  the  quiet  re- 
sponse. 

"  Think  so  !"  retorted  the  old  man.  "  Yes,  and  so 
would  you  if  you  had  been  over  there.  I'm  sorry, 
on  my  word,  for  the  mill  is  really  a  blessing  to  the 
neighborhood,  as  I've  said  all  along.  Perhaps  after 
the  farm  is  sold  you  can  make  arrangements  with 
whoever  buys  it  to  fill  up  the  bank  again,  but  it  will 
take  a  good  deal  of  time.  One  man  can  tear  it  down 
faster  than  twenty  could  build  it  up.  This  is  a  bad 
time  of  year  for  you  to  be  idle,  with  all  the  new  wheat 
ready  to  grind.  I  heard,  too,  that  you  were  going  to 
put  in  another  set  of  machinery,  and  I  intended  to 
bring  over  a  load  of  grain  to-morrow  myself." 

Mr.  Adams  heard  the  garrulous  old  man  with 
patience.  When  he  had  finished,  he  said  to  him  : 

"  Hewlett,  do  I  usually  boast  a  great  deal  ?" 

"Why,  no,  sir,  I  can't  say  that  you  do." 

"  Well,  then,  listen  a  moment.  Do  you  see  that 
machinery  revolving  there  ?" 

The  old  man  gazed  wonderingly  in  the  direction 
indicated. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Come  over  at  twelve  o'clock,"  said  Adams,  his 
voice  rising  gradually.  "  Come  at  one,  come  at 
two,  come  at  six  to-night ;  come  to-morrow,  come 
the  next  day,  and  you'll  find  it  working  just  as  you 
see  it  now.  Bring  on  your  grain.  /'//  grind  it. 
Tell  your  neighbors  to  bring  theirs.  /'//  not  keep 
them  waiting.  'There's  going  to  be  more  grain 
ground  in  this  mill  in  the  next  two  months  than 
has  ever  been  in  three  I" 


170  THE   GARSTON    BIGAMT. 

Adams  turned  and  went  into  the  mill,  and  Hew- 
lett walked  slowly  away. 

"  The  excitement  of  this  thing  has  turned  Alvah's 
head,"  he  muttered,  as  he  went  along.  But  the 
strangeness  of  what  he  had  heard  impressed  him  so 
strongly  that  he  walked  back  to  where  the  digging 
was  going  on  and  repeated  the  prediction  to  the 
assembled  multitude. 

Garston,  who  was  working  like  a  beaver,  heard  it, 
and  thought  he  understood.  Alvah  had  probably 
sent  to  the  judge  of  the  court,  holding  a  special  ses- 
sion some  miles  away,  to  get  an  injunction  issued 
against  him.  He  whispered  to  his  men,  promising 
them  double  pay  if  they  would  work  harder,  and 
taking  up  his  pickaxe  he  struck  into  the  weakest 
place  in  the  banking  until  the  sweat  rolled  from  him 
like  rain. 

The  excitement  in  the  crowd  grew  to  fever  heat, 
as  the  story  that  Hewlett  brought  circulated  and 
the  surmises  of  this  one  and  that  were  added  to  the 
stock  of  gossip.  It  was  eleven  o'clock  when,  with  a 
quick  blow,  Garston  tore  away  the  clods  that  held 
the  surging  stream  and  a  second  later  the  released 
waters,  breaking  from  their  confinement  like  an  ava- 
lanche, poured  down  upon  the  lowlands. 

The  crowd  stood  on  the  higher  ground,  on  the 
Adams  side  of  the  stream,  and  they  saw  that  the 
work  would  have  its  intended  effect  in  a  very  short 
time.  Almost  no  water  flowed  into  the  reservoir 
after  that  and  the  amount  necessary  to  turn  the 
large  wheel  was  growing  smaller  every  moment. 

Garston  leaned  on  his  pickaxe  and  wiped  the  per- 
spiration from  his  face.  He  felt  that  the  time  of 
hie  vi»t«ry  was  at  hand.  He  could  see  the  revolving 


etmrrra  THE  MILL-BANK.  1T1 

mill-wheel  from  where  he  stood,  and  could  guage 
with  tolerable  accuracy  the  fall  of  the  water  in  the 
reservoir. 

In  half  an  hour  the  wheel  began  to  show  signs  of 
weariness.  It  turned  slower — slower  yet — and  then 
—stopped. 

The  partisans  of  Garston,  which  included  the  vil- 
lagers who  were  envious  of  his  rival's  prosperity — 
not  a  small  portion  of  the  crowd  which  had  gathered 
— set  up  a  wild  shout  of  glee  at  this  sight,  and  their 
chief  smiled,  with  the  triumph  he  could  not  conceal 
depicted  in  his  grimy  countenance.  But  the  victors 
had  only  a  moment  in  which  to  enjoy  their  success. 
One  of  the  party,  who  was  nearer  to  the  mill  than 
the  rest,  leaned  over  and  placed  one  hand  to  his  ear, 
in  an  attitude  of  intense  attention.  Others,  who 
had  thought  they  detected  something  strange  in  the 
air,  stopped  and  listened  also. 

There  was  a  whirring,  buzzing  sound  coming  from 
the  mill,  as  if  the  machinery  were  still  in  full  opera- 
tion. A  puzzled  look  overspread  the  faces  of  the 
crowd,  and  as  one  man  they  ran  toward  the  edifice 
from  which  the  sound  proceeded. 

Garston  did  not  follow  them.  He  knew  what  had 
happened.  His  intuition,  joined  to  his  apprehen- 
sion told  him  what  it  was  that  made  the  whirring 
noise. 

The  mill  had  never  stopped  running  ! 

Some  other  power,  previously  arranged  for,  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  water-wheel !  ! 

What  was  it  ?  Steam,  of  course.  The  heavy  load 
that  had  been  drawn  to  the  mill  in  the  night,  and 
which  he  had  supposed  to  be  another  set  of  machin- 
ery for  grinding,  had  been  an  engine  powerful 


171  W»  «  AMTOff   BIOAMT. 

enough  to  do  the  work  he  had  been  at  such  pains  to 
stop! 

There  Is  something  in  arrested  triumph  at  the 
moment  of  apparent  victory  that  may  affect  stronger 
minds  than  that  of  this  Iowa  farmer.  He  went  into 
his  house,  overcome  by  the  occurrence,  and  hid  him- 
self from  everyone.  He  had  pictured  the  rage  of 
Adams  and  the  laugh  of  the  multitude  at  his  dis- 
comfiture. Now  the  laugh  would  be  heard,  to  be 
sure,  but  it  was  against  himself  that  it  would  be 
turned. 

He  had  been  outwitted  by  the  simplest  of 
methods.  Adams  had  chosen  the  most  cutting  way 
to  show  the  superiority  of  his  mental  calibre  and  the 
endlessness  of  his  purse.  Garston  felt  that  he  had 
been  an  idiot  to  think  that  he  could  combat  such  a 
man,  even  temporarily. 

Only  one  thing  was  needed  to  make  his  humilia- 
tion complete.  Adams  would  come  to  the  auction 
and  buy  the  roof  from  over  his  head.  A  week  from 
to-day  there  would  be  no  lower  depth  of  disgrace  into 
which  he  could  sink. 

Gerald  and  Alma  strolled  back  from  their  walk 
in  the  woods  just  before  one  o'clock.  They  had 
passed  a  morning  together  that  had  been  to  Alma 
as  beautiful  and  clear  as  the  August  sky  above  their 
heads,  and  Gerald,  notwithstanding  the  troubles 
that  encircled  him,  had  enjoyed  it  to  the  utmost. 
She  had  braided  his  straw  hat  with  twining  leaves, 
interspersed  with  red  berries,  and  he  had  gathered 
a  great  bunch  of  wild  flowers  and  pinned  it  to  her 
corsage.  She  had  sat  under  a  tree  and  held  his 
head  in  her  lap,  and  he  had  stolen  kisses  from  ever/ 


ITS 


part  of  her  rosy  cheeks,  cherry  lips  and  rounded 
throat.  The  wild  passion  that  had  affected  him  in 
his  first  close  intimacy  with  her  gave  way  on  this 
occasion  to  a  contented  calm,  and  there  was  nothing 
for  which  she  had  to  reprove  him,  even  by  the  mild 
method  of  a  look.  He  was  to  take  lunch  with  her, 
at  her  home,  but,  as  she  said,  when  they  heard  the 
distant  town  clock  striking  the  hour  of  noon, 
lunch  was  a  meal  that  one  could  take  at  any  time. 
So  they  had  waited  nearly  an  hour  more  and  then 
strolled  back,  under  the  trees,  discarding  the  beaten 
paths,  their  arms  in  schoolgirl  fashion  about  each 
other's  waists. 

Emerging  into  the  travelled  roadway  they  met 
some  young  people  who  told  them  what  had 
happened. 

"Welt,  your  father  cut  the  mill-bank  at  last,  this 
morning,"  said  one  to  Gerald,  "  and  the  big  wheel 
is  still." 

Gerald  grew  pale,  while  Alma's  face  flushed  with 
indignation. 

"  But  your  father,"  went  on  the  gossip  to  Alma, 
"  was  prepared  in  a  quite  unexpected  way.  It  seems 
that  he  had  a  steam  engine  ready.  The  belting  had 
only  to  be  shifted  from  one  pulley  to  the  other. 
The  mill  never  stopped  a  second,  not  even  for  the 
usual  noon  hour." 

The  newsvenders  passed  on.  When  he  was  sure 
that  they  were  out  of  hearing  Gerald  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  the  street. 

"  Alma,  my  dear  girl,  this  is  going  to  make  trouble 
for  us,"  he  said. 

She  answered  with  a  nod,  for  she  was  afraid  t« 
fnst  her  voice. 


THE   GABSTON   BIOA1CT. 

"Whatever  be  the  cause,  my  father  is  incensed 
against  yours  to  a  fearful  extent.  He  has  had  bad 
luck  in  everything,  as  perhaps  you  know.  I  was  not 
told  of  it  till  very  lately.  His  disappointments  have 
warped  his  mind,  I  am  afraid,  and  this  affair  will 
not  make  him  any  milder  in  his  feelings  toward  your 
people.  I  must  try  and  tell  you  everything,  now 
that  I  have  begun.  He  has  asked — really  com- 
manded me — to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you.** 

He  paused  and  found  her  regarding  him  with  a 
face  that  seemed  made  of  stone. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  why  have  you  not  obeyed 
him  ?" 

"  Because  I  cannot.  Because  you  have  been  dear 
to  me  too  long  to  make  it  possible.  But  something 
must  be  done  to  tide  over  this  temporary  difficulty. 
He  is  absolutely  without  reason  in  the  matter.  If 
you  will  help  me,  we  can  arrange  it  all  right.  Until 
there  is  some  improvement  in  his  feelings  we  must 
not  be  seen  publicly  together." 

She  sighed  deeply. 

"  If  you  love  me,  Gerald,  I  will  do  anything  that 
is  reasonable.  But  tell  me  first,  do  you  think  your 
father  justified  in  trying  to  injure  mine  in  the  wan- 
ton way  [he  attempted  this  morning,  and  do  you 
think  my  father  wrong  in  taking  methods  to  protect 
himself?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment  before  he  answered  her. 

"  Let  us  not  try  to  settle  that  question,"  he  said, 
finally.  "  You  love  your  father  ;  I  love  mine.  It  is 
not  for  us  to  criticise  their  acts.  And  remember 
this,  also  :  My  father,  a  week  from  to-night,  will 
not  have  a  house  to  call  his  own,  while  yours  is  a 
prosperous  man  with  large  possessions.  I  cannot 


CUTTING   THE   MILL-BAN^.  175 

see  yet  what  the  end  will  be.  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  the  law,  for  one  thing,  and  seek  for  work  in  some 
common  business." 

"Oh,  no,  you  must  not  do  that!"  she  cried,  in 
protest.  "  You  must  take  money  enough — not  from 
my  father,  but  from  me — to  finish  your  term  and 
place  yourself  in  the  position  to  which  you  have 
aspired.  It  is  nothing  that  you  should  be  ashamed 
of.  Your  success  is  as  dear  to  me  as  to  you.  I  am 
an  only  child  and  my  father  will  do  anything  I 
ask." 

Gerald's  pride  was  hurt  again.  It  was  ridiculous 
that  a  mere  girl  should  have  it  in  her  power  to  offer 
him  the  means  to  live  upon  !  Something  was  the 
matter  with  a  world  in  which  there  could  be  such  a 
reversed  state  of  things. 

"We  must  pass  the  first  bridge  in  this  emer- 
gency," he  answered,  "  before  we  try  those  which 
follow.  In  the  meantime,  if  I  am  obliged  to  keep 
away  from  your  house,  or  to  ask  you  to  meet  me 
secretly,  you  will  not  blame  me,  now  that  you  know 
the  truth.  There  is  a  flat  stone  on  the  wall  near  the 
entrance  to  your  driveway,  that  is  moveable.  I  will 
put  a  letter  there  when  I  am  able  to  meet  you,  and 
will  look  for  your  replies  in  the  same  place.  And 
now  we  must  part  here,  as  my  father  will  wonder 
what  is  keeping  me  away." 

Sadly  the  young  girl  took  the  bunch  of  wild- 
flowers  from  her  waist  and  dropped  them  over  a 
hedge  by  the  roadside.  She  took  the  hat  from  his 
head  and  removed  the  wreath  also. 

"They  would  attract  attention,"  she  explained. 
"  Oh,  Gerald,  how  long  must  we  act  as  if  we  were 
doing  something  disreputable  ?" 


176  1KB  OAJMTOV  BIGAMY. 

"  Not  long,"  he  answered,  cheerfully.  "  But  for 
the  present  you  will  readily  admit  that  we  have  a 
divided  duty." 

No  one  was  in  sight,  and  they  were  standing 
where  a  little  clump  of  trees  shielded  them  from 
sudden  surprise.  Gerald  took  the  woeful  face  be- 
tween his  hands  and  brought  the  lips  into  contact 
with  his  own. 

i  "Are  you  sure  you  love  me?"  she  whispered. 
"  If  there  is  ever  to  be  any  doubt  of  it,  I  had  rather 
know  it  now." 

He  drew  her  close  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her 
again  and  again. 

*'  If  you  had  consented  to  my  proposal  for  a  secret 
marriage,  you  would  not  find  such  ideas  creeping 
into  your  head,"  he  replied. 

"How  would  that  have  made  any  difference?" 
she  asked,  innocently.  "  A  ceremony  of  marriage 
would  only  hold  where  the  heart  went  with  the 
words.  If  you  truly  love  me  nothing  else  is  neces- 
sary." 

"  Does  it  seem  so  to  you  ?"  said  he.  "  That  shows 
the  way  a  woman  reasons.  If  it  would  please  me 
very  much — if  I  was  sure  that  it  would  be  the  wisest 
and  best  thing — are  you  certain  that  you  could 
never  consent  ?  I  see  before  me  a  very  bleak  pros- 
pect. I  am  to  be  turned  out  of  the  house  where  I 
was  born,  perhaps  compelled  to  labor  in  the  fields 
like  a  common  workman.  There  is  nothing  in  my 
whole  horizon  that  contains  a  ray  of  light  but  you. 
If  you  were  truly  my  own — if  you  would  become 
my  wife,  from  whom  nothing  could  part  me — I 
would  even  consent  to  take  the  money  you  have 
offered,  for  there  would  then  be  no  disgrace  in  it." 


in 


As  he  spoke  he  drew  her  to  him  tighter  yet>  until 
she  could  feel  something  of  the  torrent  that  surged 
through  his  veins. 

"  Alma,  I  am  no  angel,  and  only  your  love — strong, 
real,  true — can  keep  me  right.  Why  should  you  in- 
sist on  a  technical  point  when  so  much  is  at  stake?" 

He  had  almost  hypnotized  her  with  his  eyes,  his 
lips  and  his  embrace,  but  the  womanly  sense  that 
was  in  her  still  held  out. 

"  It  is  a  thing  to  think  of  a  good  while,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  cannot  bear  to  deceive  my  parents,  who 
have  never  refused  me  anything  since  I  can  remem- 
ber. If  it  becomes  imperative  that  we  should  be 
married  without  waiting  for  you  to  finish  your 
studies,  I  had  rather  go  directly  to  them  and  state 
the  case.  Their  only  aim  would  be  to  make  me 
happy.  I  am  almost  sure  that  they  would  not  ob- 
ject when  they  understood  everything." 

This  was  not  at  all  what  he  wanted.  It  would 
precipitate  a  collision  with  his  father — and  with 
Edith.  He  wanted  a  private  union,  which  could  be 
kept  from  the  knowledge  of  the  world  for  a  long 
time.  This  would  enable  him  to  dispose  of  the  ob- 
stacles in  his  way  at  his  leisure.  Gerald  did  not 
want  a  prosaic  marriage  now,  with  a  wealthy  father- 
in-law  doling  him  out  the  cash  he  needed,  as  though 
he  were  ten  years  of  age.  He  thought  there  would 
be  something  charming,  too,  in  a  secret  union  with 
such  a  girl  as  Alma. 

But  the  town  clock  had  struck  one,  and  he  had  to 
tear  himself  away  for  the  present,  at  least.  He  told 
her  that  they  would  both  have  to  think  of  this  mat- 
ter at  their  leisure,  when  their  minds  were  calm. 
She  was  pleased  with  this  tone,  and  they  parted 


ITS  THE   GABSTON   BKJAMV. 

with  less  feeling  on  her  part  than  she  would  other* 
wise  have  had,  that  she  must  maintain  a  sort  of  an- 
tagonism against  him,  for  her  own  preservation. 

"  I  will  leave  you  a  note  later  in  the  day,"  he  said, 
as  she  left  him.  "  Don't  fail  to  keep  an  appoint- 
ment, if  I  am  able  to  make  one." 

Alma  did  little  that  afternoon  but  watch  the  wall 
that  bounded  the  estate  on  the  street  side,  which 
she  could  see  plainly  from  her  music-room  window. 
It  was  nearly  six  when  Gerald  passed,  and  paused, 
apparently  to  break  off  a  flower  from  a  vine  that 
clung  to  the  rock.  When  he  was  out  of  sight  she 
tripped  nervously  to  the  place  and  lifted  the  flat 
stone.  But  her  heart  beat  faster  than  ever  and  her 
cheek  grew  crimson  when  she  read  the  note  : 

"  MY  DARLING  :  Meet  me  at  the  summer-house  in 
the  wood,  at  eight  o'clock.  Bring  the  key.  Do  not 
hesitate.  Everything  depends  on  your  presence 
there.  G." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

**IT  IS  EDITH,    OF   COURSE." 

John  Garston  had  not  been  the  most  agreeable 
man  in  Jefferson  for  a  number  of  years.  He  had 
been  noted  for  his  short  answers,  his  disinclination 
to  take  part  in  any  gathering,  his  way  of  driving  or 
walking  along  the  road  as  though  he  saw  no  one 
Hud  wanted  no  one  to  see  him.  But  from  the  day 


"IT   IS   EDITH,   OP  COURSE.*  17W 

when  the  steam  engine  began  its  work  his  manners 
were  even  mor^  surly  than  before.  He  acted  as  if 
every  man  whom  he  met  were  his  personal  enemy, 
never  replying  to  the  "  good-morning"  with  which 
old  acquaintances  greeted  him,  and  transacting  what 
little  business  he  had  to  do  in  an  ill-natured 
pantomine.  In  this  way  he  lost  what  sympathy  he 
had  had  among  the  villagers  and  became  most 
cordially  detested  before  the  time  for  the  auction 
arrived. 

Little  by  little  he  learned,  from  bits  of  conversa- 
tion that  he  overheard,  how  deeply  Alvah  had  laid 
his  plans  after  he  found  that  his  enemy  had  deter- 
mined to  tap  the  brook.  He  had  brought  to  his 
mill  not  only  a  powerful  engine,  but  enough 
machinery  to  double  its  grinding  capacity.  As  the 
only  fuel  of  the  vicinity  was  wood,  and  as  this  was 
not  over  plenty,  he  had  bought  quietly,  through  an 
agent,  all  the  available  stock  in  town,  and  had  made 
a  contract  for  a  large  amount  to  be  delivered  in  the 
future  as  wanted.  It  was  much  cheaper  to  run  his 
mill  with  water,  of  course,  than  with  steam,  but  the 
engine  would  not  prove  altogether  a  loss.  There 
were  several  months  in  the  year  when  the  old  power 
had  been  insufficient,  and  with  the  increased 
machinery  this  time  would  be  increased.  And 
another  element  in  the  scheme  of  the  mill-owner 
was  developed  the  first  time  a  new  customer  came 
with  a  load  of  wheat  for  grinding. 

"  I  shall  take  out  an  additional  quart  for  my  toil 
after  this,"  said  Adams  to  him,  handing  him  a  rate- 
card  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have  ground  at  a  lower  tariff 
than  I  ought,  having  the  water-power  to  rely  on,  but 
the  price  will  be  increased  hereafter.  Machinery  is 


160  THE    GARSTON    BIGAM*. 

dear,  and   wood   is   costly,  and  I  do  not  see  why  I 

should  bear  the  loss  when  the  cost  of  grinding  has 
been  enhanced  through  no  fault  of  mine." 

The  man,  one  of  those  who  shouted  when  he  saw 
the  bank  of  the  brook  demolished,  looked  anything 
but  pleased. 

"  I  suppose  there's  no  law  compelling  us  to  come 
here,"  he  growled. 

"  No.  And  I  should  not  grind  any  more  for 
the  public  except  for  accommodation.  It  nets  me  a 
little  more  to  buy  wheat  and  grind  altogether  for  my- 
self." 

This  was  not  long  in  being  spread  broadcast. 
Some  who  heard  it  were  indignant  at  Adams, 
declaring  that  he  was  a  bloated  monopolist,  bent  on 
the  destruction  of  his  poorer  neighbors.  But  the 
majority  traced  the  trouble  directly  to  the  act  of 
John  Garston  and  heaped  their  maledictions  on  him 
as  the  cause  of  this  injury  to  the  farming  industry 
of  Jefferson  County. 

"  You  know  what  wheat  was  worth  when  Alvah 
started  that  mill,"  said  one  of  them,  in  a  knot  that 
gathered  in  the  evening  at  the  post-office,  "  and  how 
it  went  up  as  soon  as  he  began  to  grind.  We  were 
wholly  at  the  mercy  of  the  buyers,  until  this  mill 
gave  us  a  double  market.  You  may  talk  of 
monopoly  till  you  are  tired,  but  I  tell  you  if  there  was 
ever  a  man  of  public  spirit  it  is  that  Alvah  Adams. 
He  has  taken  the  smallest  tolls  of  any  miller  in  the 
State,  when  he  might  have  had  twice  as  much  if 
there  had  been  anything  mean  about  him  !" 

"  What  do  you  say  to  this  increase,  that's  the 
question  ?"  put  in  another. 

"I  say  it's  right.     I  say  the  man  would  be  a  fool 


"IP  li   EDITH,   OF  COUBSJC."  181 

if  he  had  done  anything  else.  What  do  you  suppose  it 
cost  him  to  put  that  engine  in  ?  And  what  will  be 
his  bill  for  wood  in  the  course  of  a  year  ?  Do  you 
think  he  wants  that  to  come  out  of  his  own  pocket  ? 
Would  any  of  you  doit  ?  No,  I'll  bet  you  wouldn't,!' 
he  added,  as  no  one  seemed  able  to  satisfactorily 
answer  his  numerous  conundrums.  "  If  you  want 
to  blame  any  one,  blame  Garston.  If  you  pay  extra 
tolls,  lay  it  to  him.  He's  your  man!  He's  done  it  !" 

"'Sh!"  called  a  listener,  in  a  low  voice.  '*  There 
Ae  is  now." 

"  I  don't  care  !"  was  the  sharp  retort,  as  John 
antered  the  shop.  "  I'd  as  lief  say  it  to  him  as  to 
you  !" 

Garston  had  heard  it  all.  Coming  to  the  steps  of 
the  store  he  had  stopped  to  read  a  bulletin  that  was 
nailed  outside  the  door,  and  the  harsh  use  of  his 
name  had  come  to  his  ears  as  plainly  as  to  those  of 
the  otheis.  He  said  nothing  in  response  to  the 
affront  cast  upon  him,  but  looked  in  his  box,  took  the 
mail  offered  him  and  departed.  What  did  he  care 
whether  this  man  or  that  in  the  village  approved  of 
what  he  had  done?  He  had  no  intention  of  remain- 
ing among  them  after  his  farm  was  sold.  He  found 
a  grain  of  comfort,  even  in  his  hatred  of  Alvah,  in 
the  (reflection  that  they  would  all  have  to  pay  more 
than  they  had  ever  done  to  get  their  wheat  turned 
into  flour. 

On  the  road  which  led  to  his  home  he  met  the 
handsome  carriage  that  Adams  rode  in,  with  its 
smart  driver,  and  saw  that  Adams  and  his  wife 
occupied  the  main  seat.  The  dust  from  the  highway 
rose  as  they  approached,  covering  him  with  its  chok- 
ing cloud.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and 


1B2  JTHE  GAESTON  BIGAMY. 

pretended  not  to  see  them,  but  before  he  could  do  so 
he  had  caught  a  vision  of  the  frail  woman  whose  love 
he  had  coveted  and  for  whom  he  had  thrown  a  life 
away,  that  might  with  her,  he  fondly  imagined,  have 
been  worth  something  to  him.  Alvah  had  her — he 
had  lands  unincumbered  by  mortgage — seventeen 
hundred  acres  and  more  now — a  mill  whose  power 
no  one  could  interfere  with — money  beside — every- 
thing that  he  could  desire.  And  the  foot  passenger, 
whose  form  he  covered  with  the  dust  of  his  carriage, 
and  who  had  started  in  life  on  precisely  the  same 
level  as  he,  had — nothing  ! 

No  !  The  dust-covered  figure  raised  himself  a 
little.  Alvah  did  not  have  everything  he  wanted. 
He  had  never  had  a  son!  In  that  one  thing  alone 
the  penniless  tramper  surpassed  him.  He  wanted 
now  to  gain  the  boy  that  he  might  make  him  one  of 
his  family — that  he  might  put  him  in  the  place  of  a 
child  of  his  own.  John  knew  from  a  hundred  sources 
that  Adams  had  set  his  heart  on  a  marriage  between 
his  daughter  and  Gerald,  and  he  had  nothing  left 
now  to  live  for  except  to  disappoint  him  in  that 
hope.  Gerald  would  obey  him.  He  had  promised 
to  break  whatever  friendship  he  had  with  Alma,  and 
he  would  keep  his  word.  Alvah  Adams  could  sue 
for  his  son  in  vain.  His  handsome  daughter — so  like 
what  her  mother  was  at  her  age — might  fade  and 
pine  for  the  love  she  craved,  as  he  had  pined  for  the 
love  of  hermother,  but  he  would  be  obdurate.  Alvah 
could  have  his  acres  and  his  cash,  but  the  one  thing 
that  his  child  wanted  to  make  her  a  happy  woman 
it  was  in  the  power  of  his  crushed  neighbor  to  with* 
bold. 


"IT  18   EDITH,   OF  COTTRSK."  183 

On  the  morning  when  the  sale  of  his  farm  was  to 
take  place,  Mr.  Garston  had  a  brief  talk  with  Gerald. 

"You  have  heard,  of  course,"  he  said,  "everybody 
has  heard,  about  my  failure  to  stop  his  mill."  There 
was  no  need  of  anything  more  than  the  pronoun  to 
explain  who  was  meant.  "  I  expect  that  he  will  buy 
the  farm.  He  has  bought  everything  that  has  been 
offered  for  sale  about  here  for  years.  Let  him  have 
it.  Let  him  take  the  ground  which  I  turned  over 
with  my  breaking  plow  when  he  and  I  were  poor 
together.  Let  him  take  this  house,  where  I  have 
lived  for  so  long,  and  use  it — as  he  will — for  his 
laborers.  I  don't  care.  But  don't  forget  your 
promise,  my  boy,  about  his  daughter.  Let  him  not 
boast  at  least,  that  he  has  beaten  me  with  my  own 
son  as  his  assistant.  You  have  told  me  what  you 
will  do,  and  I  rely  upon  you  implicitly." 

Gerald  said  "Yes,  sir,"  and  that  ended  the  conver- 
sation. His  feelings  toward  Alma  had  undergone 
many  changes  during  the  past  few  days.  The  meet- 
ing which  he  had  arranged  in  the  summer-house  was 
not  carried  out  as  he  had  planned,  for  one  thing. 
Alma  oame  to  the  wood  at  the  hour  appointed  in  his 
note,  but  it  was  to  tell  him  that  she  had  purposely 
neglected  to  bring  the  keys  to  the  gate  and  dwell- 
ing, as  she  could  conceive  of  no  message  that  he  had 
to  give  her  which  could  not  be  told  equally  well 
under  the  shadow  of  the  trees  outside.  This  threw 
him  into  a  fit  of  sulks  which  he  could  not  wholly  con- 
ceal, and  in  response  to  her  earnest  request  to  tell 
what  had  offended  him,  he  reiterated  his  former 
charge  of  her  lack  of  faith  in  him.  He  said  it  made 
him  miserable  to  feel  that  she  distrusted  him  at  every 
point. 


184  THE  GARSTON  BIGAMY. 

"  You  ought  to  know  that  a  man  has  some  prid«>* 
said  he,  in  an  injured  tone.  "  I  asked  you  to 
bring  the  keys.  If  you  loved  me  as  truly  as  I  love 
you  these  precautions  would  not  enter  your  head. 
You  would  only  say  to  yourself,  *  Gerald  wishes  it, 
and  that  is  reason  enough  for  me.'  If  the  case  were 
reversed  you  would  not  find  me  quibbling  about 
trifles." 

He  hurt  her  more  than  he  meant  to,  but  she  tried 
to  answer  him  gravely  : 

"  I  can  understand  that  a  man  may  have  pride,** 
she  said,  "  but  a  woman  should  also  have  a  little- 
To  go  into  that  summer-house  with  you  at  this 
hour  would  subject  us  to  the  scorn  of  any  person 
who  might  discover  it.  For  your  sake  as  well  as 
my  own  I  thought  it  wise  to  disregard  your  request, 
and  if  you  think  it  over  you  will  admit  that  I  am 
right." 

He  did  not  know  how  to  combat  this  statement, 
which  he  knew  did  her  honor,  but  it  was  not  in  his 
mood  to  make  concessions. 

"  What  did  you  want  to  tell  me  ?"  she  asked,  see- 
ing that  he  still  seemed  unhappy. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  talk  things  over.  We  can't  hold 
a  private  conversation  here,  where  any  passer-by  may 
hear  us.  I  don't  know  but  my  father  might  take  it 
into  his  head  to  stroll  this  way.  There  would  be  an 
end  of  everything  between  him  and  me  if  he  saw  me 
with  you." 

"Is  he  so  severe  as  that  ?" 

"Yes.  He  has  not  only  forbidden  me  to  speak 
to  you  again,  but  he  has  been  so  kind  as  to  tell 
me  just  the  person  on  whom  my  affections  should 
centre." 


«  IT  IB  EDITH,  OF  OOUBBE."  18ft 

Then,  as  she  regarded  him  with  an  inquiring  look 
he  said,  half  on  account  of  the  hateful  temper  that 
was  on  him — 

"  It  is  Edith,  of  course." 

Alma  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  ground  near  her 
feet. 

"  He  does  not  even  propose  to  consult  her,  it 
seems." 

"  Why,"  he  asked,  unguardedly,  '*  do  you  doubt 
that  she  would  accept  me  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  she  answered,  while  an  expression 
of  pain  flitted  across  her  brow.  "  She  has  known 
my  sentiments  toward  you  for  a  long  time,  though 
we  have  never  spoken  a  word  on  the  matter,  and  it 
would  probably  take  her  by  surprise  if  any  one  should 
couple  you  and  her  in  that  way.  Somehow  I  never 
can  think  of  Edie  as  a  married  woman.  She  seems 
destined  to  become  one  of  those  dear,  lovable  old 
maids  that  the  world  cannot  get  along  without." 

This  touched  his  pride  again,  in  a  new  place.  He 
did  not  want  Alma  to  think  that  she  was  the  only  girl 
who  had  ever  fallen  in  love  with  him,  and  yet  he  did 
not  know  exactly  how  to  enlighten  her. 

"  So  you  don't  think  Edith  would  have  had  me  if  I 
had  gone  to  her  instead  of  you  ?"  he  said.  "I  wish 
I  were  at  liberty  to  tell  you  something — " 

He  stopped  short,  with  that  air  of  wisdom  which 
usually  accompanies  an  insinuation  of  this  sort,  and 
an  added  sadness  came  to  the  face  of  Alma. 

"  If  she  loves  you,  I  am  very  sorry  for  her,"  she 
said,  simply.  "  I  do  not  see  how  I  could  have  been 
so  blind  as  not  to  notice.  But  perhaps  I  was  so  full 
of  my  own  love,"  she  added,  "  that  I  could  see  noth. 
ing  else." 


186  THE    GAKSTON    BIGAMY. 

This  confession  was  sufficient  balm  to  his  wounded 
vanity,  and  he  rewarded  her  for  it  with  a  kiss.  They 
remained  in  the  wood  an  hour  or  so  longer,  and  then 
he  took  her  back  to  the  neighborhood  of  her  father's 
house,  and  they  parted  with  mutual  expressions  of 
endearment 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BUYING    A   SON-IN-LAW. 

Never  had  an  auction  in  or  near  Jefferson  drawn 
such  an  audience  as  assembled  when  Si  Wilmot  stood 
upon  a  chair  under  one  of  the  big  trees  and  pro- 
ceeded to  read  the  power  of  sale  mortgage  under 
which  he  proposed  to  dispose  of  the  Garston  farm. 
Not  three  persons  in  the  entire  party  had  the  remot- 
est intention  of  putting  in  a  bid,  or  had  the  means 
to  do  so  had  they  been  ever  so  willing,  but  this  did 
not  prevent  them  from  elbowing  each  other  for  good 
locations  near  the  chair  on  which  Wilmot  stood,  and 
standing  with  wide  open  mouths  drinking  in  each 
word  of  his  as  though  it  were  heavenly  manna. 

No  one  had  any  doubt  that  Alvah  Adams  would 
own  the  farm  when  the  sale  was  over,  and  they 
turned  occasionally  to  watch  him  as  he  sat  in  his 
carriage  a  little  out  of  the  crowd,  looking  pale  and 
firm,  like  a  man  who  means  to  have  what  he  has  set 
out  for.  The  agent  of  the  Iowa  Investment  Com- 
pany was  also  pointed  out,  though  most  of  the  farm- 
ers  present  knew  his  face  only  too  well.  His  corpor- 


BUYING  A  SON-IN-LAW.  187 

ation  had  encumbrances  on  some  of  the  best  pieces 
of  land  in  that  section,  and  he  was  noted  for  his 
promptness  in  collecting  interest  for  the  Eastern 
capitalists  who  were  his  employers. 

Garston  stood  with  Gerald  at  the  front  door  of  the 
house,  both  of  them  showing  the  mental  strain  under 
which  they  were  laboring.  Everybody  was  relieved 
when  the  voice  of  the  auctioneer  broke  the  stillness. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  am  under  the  painful 
necessity  of  offering  to  the  highest  bidder  here 
to-day  this  estate  which  has  long  been  the  abode  of 
one  of  your  esteemed  townsmen.  I  say  painful, 
because  no  one  likes  to  see  a  farm  wrested  from  a  man 
who  has  met  with  reverses.  And  I  must  say  also  at 
this  time,  that  it  is  not  the  policy  of  the  Iowa  Invest- 
ment Company  to  dispossess  any  mortgagor  of  theirs 
who  is  able  to  pay  his  interest,  even  though  the  time 
may  have  passed  in  which  he  agreed  to  pay  the 
principal.  The  principal  represented  here  has  been 
overdue  for  the  past  nine  years.  It  is  because  of  the 
failure  of  the  mortgagor  to  pay  the  interest,  gentle- 
men, that  we  are  obliged  to  sell  this  property." 

The  agent  of  the  Investment  Company  whispered 
to  Wilmot  to  go  on  with  his  sale,  and  to  let  further 
praise  of  his  employers  go  till  some  other  time. 

"  The  agent  of  the  mortgagees  in  this  case  has 
just  informed  me  that  he  is  willing  to  start  the  bid- 
ding at  ,the  amount  of  the  mortgage  and  interest," 
said  Mr.  Wilmot,  unblushingly,  though  no  one  in  the 
assembly  had  the  least  doubt  of  the  different  import 
of  the  whispered  directions.  "  Mr.  Grosschen,  then 
offers  three  thousand  one  hundred  and  nine  dollars. 
He  does  not,  however,  wish  to  buy  the  estate,  and 
will  not  bid  against  any  one  else." 


188  THE    GARSTOtf    BfOAXT. 

While  the  crowd  was  trying  to  admire  the  magm* 
nimity  of  Mr.  Grosschen,  as  thus  set  forth,  a  sensa- 
tion was  caused  by  the  arrival  of  a  rapidly  driven 
carriage.  It  was  the  private  vehicle  of  Colonel 
Staples,  and  that  gentleman  himself  occupied  it 
The  horses  bore  signs  of  having  been  put  to  their 
best  speed,  being  covered  with  foam  which  flew 
from  every  part  of  them  as  they  were  suddenly 
pulled  up  in  the  midst  of  the  lawn  party. 

The  Colonel  had  an  anxious  look  as  he  surveyed 
the  auctioneer  and  sprang  unaided  to  the  ground. 

"  Has  the  sale  begun  ?"  he  asked  those  about  him. 

"  Just  one  bid,"  said  old  Hewlett,  as  spokesman 
for  the  rest. 

The  auctioneer  began  to  read  the  mbrtgage  deed, 
as  a  matter  of  form,  describing  the  premises  to 
be  sold.  As  Colonel  Staples  glanced  about  the 
crowd  his  eye  met  that  of  Mr.  Adams,  sitting  upright 
as  a  ramrod  in  his  carriage.  They  nodded  with  some, 
thing  less  than  their  usual  affability.  Without  exactly 
knowing  why,  each  suspected  that  the  other  had 
designs  not  in  consonance  with  his  own  plans  that  day. 

The  Colonel  found  what  he  sought  at  last.  It  was 
Gerald.  He  attracted  the  attention  of  the  young 
man  and  motioned  to  him  to  come  a  little  apart  from 
the  others. 

44 1  came  here  to  see  if  there  was  anything  I  could 
do  for  you,"  he  said,  taking  Gerald  by  the  arm. 
"We  only  arrived  in  town  an  hour  ago,  and  just 
heard  of  this  sale  by  accident.  Edith  was  with  me 
when  I  got  the  news,  and  she  said,  Don't  waste  a 
minute,  father.  Buy  the  farm,  do  anything  that  is 
necessary  to  help  him.'  And  here  I  am,  in  good 
time,  as  it  appears." 


Btnrnfo  A  SON-IN-LAW.  189 

Quite  overcome  with  surprise  at  the  generosity  of 
the  Colonel,  Gerald  could  hardly  answer. 

"Let  me  ask  father,"  he  stammered.  "I  will 
return  in  a  moment." 

As  quickly  as  he  could  convey  the  information, 
Gerald  told  his  father  why  Colonel  Staples  had  come, 
and  a  ray  of  light  lit  up  the  features  of  .  the  dis- 
couraged man. 

"  I  will  see  him,"  he  whispered.  "  Stay  where  you 
are." 

The  crowd  was  not  unobservant  of  these  consulta- 
tions, and  gossip  began  to  circulate  the  rumor  that 
Colonel  Staples  had  arrived  with  money  to  pay  up 
the  interest  and  stop  the  saie.  Alvah  Adams  heard 
these  surmises  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  his 
countenance  darkened. 

John  Garston  heard  from  the  Colonel's  own  lips 
what  he  had  already  said  to  Gerald  and  thanked  him 
quietly. 

"  There's  nothing  you  can  do  except  to  buy  it,** 
said  he.  "The  Investment  Company  wouldn't  stop 
the  sale  now  even  if  all  the  interest  was  paid,  and 
the  "principal  on  top  of  that.  I've  inquired.  It's 
against  their  policy.  When  they  have  advertised  a 
sale  it  has  to  come  off.  It  is  a  good  bit  of  land  and 
you  could  afford  to  pay  more  than  their  claim." 

"  There's  a  second  mortgage  of  fifteen  hundred, 
too,"  said  Staples. 

"  Yes,  but  the  first  holds.  I  expected  to  see  David- 
son  here,  to  protect  his  interest." 

•*  I  represent  him,"  said  Colonel  Staples,  not  think- 
ing it  a  time  to  go  into  particulars.  "  Well,  Mr. 
Garston,  I'll  buy  the  place  and  arrange  with  you  to 
remain,  if  you  wish.  Edith  told  me  to  do  whatever  you 


190  THE   6ARSTON    BTOAWT. 

desired.  You  understand,  sir,  that  my  daughter's 
request  has  brought  me  here.  Do  you  think  there  is 
likely  to  be  much  of  a  contest  ?" 

The  farmer  looked  across  the  lawn  to  where 
Adams  was. 

"  The  only  one  who'll  bid  against  you,"  he  said. 
"  is  that  man  in  the  carriage.  He  is  here  from  hate, 
as  you  are  from  good-will.  His  daughter  had  her 
heart  set  on  Gerald,  and  I  have  forbidden  him  to 
see  her.  He  wants  to  get  the  farm,  to  hold  it  over 
our  heads.  No  one  but  you  can  prevent  him." 

Saying  this,  Garston  abruptly  left  the  Colonel, 
and  returned  to  the  place  which  he  had  originally 
occupied.  The  auctioneer  had  finished  reading  his 
document  and  had  also  given  a  glowing  description 
of  the  premises  which  he  was  offering. 

"And  for  this  farm,  with  its  buildings,  as  it  now 
stands,"  he  said  in  summing  up,  "  I  am  offered  three 
thousand,  one  hundred  and  nine  dollars  by  the  agent 
of  the  mortgagees.  Does  any  one  bid  higher  ?" 

Colonel  Staples  stepped  forward. 

"  Representing  a  second  mortgage  of  fifteen  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  dollars,  reckoning  interest  due, 
I  bid  that  amount  in  addition  to  the  sum  you  name," 
he  said. 

There  was  a  little  surprise  at  this.  Wilmot  took 
up  a  shingle  which  some  one  handed  him  and  did 
his  figuring. 

"  That  makes  forty-six  hundred  and  eighty-four 
dollars  that  I  am  offered,"  he  announced.  Then, 
after  the  manner  of  auctioneers  from  time  immem- 
orial, he  proceeded  to  tell  his  auditors  that  such  a 
farm  never  was  offered  for  such  a  small  sum,  in  any 
age  or  country.  "  Forty-six,  eighty-four,"  he  con- 


MTTHfO  A  SON-IK-LAW.  Ill 

tinued,  consulting  the  shingle.     "  Forty-six,  eighty- 
four.     Does  any  one  say  forty-seven  ?" 

Mr.  Adams,  from  his  place  in  the  carriage,  raised 
his  hand.  The  crowd  was  delighted  at  the  motion. 
It  augured  a  lively  contest,  and  that  is  what  they 
hoped  to  see.  Colonel  Staples  came  nearer  to  the 
auctioneer's  chair.  Wilmot  had  barely  repeated  the 
bid  when  the  Colonel  nodded  to  him  sharply. 

"Forty-seven  hundred,  forty-eight  I'm  offered," 
cried  Wilmot.  He  looked  toward  Adams.  "  Forty- 
nine,  sir  ?" 

"  Five  thousand,"  came  the  words  of  the  mill, 
owner. 

It  was  certainly  becoming  interesting.  Mr.  Gars, 
ton  and  Gerald  looked  on  with  breathless  interest- 
Much  to  them  would  depend  on  the  next  few 
moments. 

"  Five  thousand  I'm  bid,"  said  the  auctioneer. 
"  Do  you  say — " 

"  Six,"  shouted  the  Colonel,  in  a  clear  voice. 

"  Seven,"  came  with  equal  clearness  from  the  car 
riage  where  Mr.  Adams  sat. 

There  was  a  pause.  Every  judge  of  real  estate  in 
the  crowd  knew  that  the  actual  value  of  the  farm  had 
been  exceeded,  and  that  future  offerings  on  the  part 
of  these  men  were  actuated  by  other  considerations. 
The  auctioneer  began  to  get  warm.  The  ordinary 
mortgage  sale  did  not  furnish  such  an  episode  as 
this. 

"  Seven  thousand  for  this  farm,"  he  repeated. 
"  Seven  thousand."  He  looked  toward  Colonel 
Staples,  who  said  "  Seventy-five."  He  looked  back 
at  Mr.  Adams,  who  said,  "  Eight  thousand,"  but  the 
words  came  indistinctly,  and  some  one  near  the  car- 


MS  THE  ftAMTON  BIOAMT. 

riage  had  to  repeat  them.  Fifty  dollars  an  acre  for 
Jefferson  farms  had  hitherto  been  a  thing  unheard 
of,  and  the  buildings  on  this  one  were  old  and  dilap- 
idated. Colonel  Staples  uttered  the  single  word 
"  nine,"  and  Adams  signalled  to  his  driver  to  leave. 

"  Nine  thousand  !"  shouted  Wilmot.  «'  Is  there 
any  other  bid  ?  Nine  thousand  once  ;  nine  thousand 
twice  ;  third  and  last  call — and  sold  to  Colonel  Sta- 
ples for  nine  thousand." 

A  murmur  of  derision  went  through  the  crowd  as 
it  parted  to  let  the  steeds  that  drew  the  Adams  car- 
riage pass  by.  The  feelings  of  its  occupant  were  not 
softened  by  this  demonstration,  and  before  he  reached 
the  gate  he  was  in  the  worst  possible  mood  to  meet 
John  Garston,  who  had  hastened  there  before  him. 

"  I'm  going  to  stay  here  in  spite  of  you,  you  see !" 
he  exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  triumph  on  his  face. 
"  The  farm  is  mine  still  !  Tell  that  to  your  wife, 
damn  you  !  Tell  it  to  your  daughter !  Tell  Alma 
that  Gerald  will  marry  Edith — " 

He  could  say  no  more,  for  Adams,  beside  himself 
with  rage,  sprang  from  his  carriage  and  struck  him 
full  in  the  forehead  with  his  fist.  He  wore  a  heavy 
seal  ring  that  he  did  not  take  into  account  when 
delivering  the  blow,  and  it  cut  deeply  into  the  flesh, 
releasing  a  stream  of  blood  that  coursed  down  over 
Garston's  eyes,  completely  blinding  him  for  the 
moment, 

Gerald  had  seen  that  something  was  going  on  and 
came  hurrying  to  the  spot  just  in  time  to  witness  this 
action.  Waiting  not  a  second  he  threw  himself  upon 
Adams  and  bore  him  violently  to  the  ground. 

The  whole  affair  occupied  so  little  time  that  those 
Who  saw  it  had  no  chance  to  interfere.  But  now  a 


BUYING   A  SON-IN-LAW.  192 

dozen  hands  grasped  the  young  man  and  pulled  him 
from  the  prostrate  form,  while  others  assisted  Adams, 
who  was  much  dazed,  to  regain  his  feet.  Another 
party  lent  handkerchiefs  to  Garston  and  bound  up 
his  head,  and  Colonel  Staples  came  up  with  his  car- 
riage and  offered  to  take  him  to  the  nearest  phy- 
sician's, as  it  was  evident  that  several  stitches  would 
have  to  be  taken  in  his  wound. 

"Don't  touch  him  !"  cried  Garston  to  Gerald,  see- 
ing that  his  son  was  kept  with  difficulty  from  again 
assaulting  Adams.  "  He  wanted  to  get  my  home 
away  and  when  that  failed  he  tried  to  kill  me,  but 
let  him  be  !  Only — remember  !  Remember,  when 
this  day  is  past,  that  he  gave  me  this  blow  1" 

Gerald  was  forced  into  the  Colonel's  carriage, 
while  Adams,  in  anything  but  a  pleasant  frame  of 
mind,  was  driven  home.  After  Garston's  hurt  had 
been  attended  to,  the  Colonel  persuaded  Gerald  to 
go  with  him  for  a  few  moments  to  his  own  house,  say- 
ing that  there  was  one  there  who  was  very  anxious 
to  see  him  after  so  long  a  separation. 

Brief  as  had  been  the  time  since  the  assault,  rumor 
had  already  carried  it  to  the  Staples  mansion.  The 
story  had  reached  there  in  two  forms — one  of  which 
made  it  appear  that  it  was  Gerald  himself  who  had 
been  injured,  and  he  found  Edith  in  a  highly  excit- 
able state.  She  ran  to  the  carriage  to  meet  him, 
satisfied  herself  hastily  that  he  was  unhurt,  accepted 
the  embrace  which  the  presence  of  her  parents  did 
not  prevent  him  offering  her,  and  then  fainted  in  his 
arms. 


194  THE    OAKSTON    BlflLUCY. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"YOU   DO    NOT   KNOW   MY    FATHER." 

There  were  many  sad  hours  for  Gerald  on  the<U./s 
that  followed.  He  deeply  regretted  the  rash  conduct 
of  his  father,  and  was  filled  with  mortification  at  the 
way  his  name  had  been  mixed  with  Edith's  before 
that  thoughtless  crowd.  But  even  at  the  moment 
when  the  fair  girl  lay  in  his  embrace,  giving  him  a 
clearer  insight  into  the  deep  love  she  bore  him  than 
he  had  ever  had,  his  mind  was  far  astray.  It  was 
upon  that  other  one,  whose  parent  he  had  thrown  to 
the  earth,  and  who  must  now  be  undergoing  the 
severest  pangs  as  she  listened  to  the  story  of  the 
altercation.  He  carried  Edith  into  the  parlor  and 
placed  her  on  a  sofa,  where  she  soon  recovered  con- 
sciousness. And  when  the  rest  of  the  family,  seeing 
that  she  needed  no  help,  had  discreetly  retired,  he 
sat  by  her  side,  holding  her  hand  and  even  kissing 
her  pale  cheek  occasionally,  as  he  recounted,  in  as 
mild  a  manner  as  the  facts  would  bear,  what  he 
thought  best  of  the  afternoon  occurrence. 

"  Poor  Alma  !"  said  Edith,  when  she  had  heard 
him  through.  "  It  will  be  very  sad  for  her.  I  must 
go  and  see  her  in  the  morning.  Do  you  think  the 
hurt  to  your  father  will  be  a  serious  one  ?" 

"  Not  to  his  body,"  said  Gerald,  "  but  to  his  mind 
it  will  be  serious  indeed.  He  has  cherished  an 
enmity  to  Mr.  Adams  for  a  long  time,  and  this  wound 
will  not  help  him  forget  it.  I  will  tell  you  something 
more,  as  a  secret.  He  has  already  expressed  in  the 


*YOU  DO  HOT   KNOW  MY   FATHER."  195 

strongest  terms  his  wish  that  I  should  never  speak 
to  Alma  again." 

Edith,  to  whom  this  news  was  not  wholly  unex- 
pected, responded  that  she  was  very  sorry,  and  hoped 
that  he  would  relent. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  he  can  carry  his  spite — forgive 
me  if  the  word  seems  strong — against  Mr.  Adams  to 
such  an  extent  as  to  visit  it  upon  Alma.  Surely  she 
is  not  to  be  held  accountable  for  the  differences 
between  him  and  her  father.  I  shall  go  to  see  him 
and  try  to  talk  him  out  of  it." 

Gerald  smiled  at  the  idea  that  she  could  have  any 
influence  with  this  man,  whom  he,  his  only  son,  could 
not  pretend  to  affect  in  the  least. 

"  You  do  not  know  my  father,  or  you  would  not 
cherish  any  such  notion  as  that,"  he  replied. 

The  girl  blushed  as  she  recollected  the  former  con- 
versations that  she  and  John  Garston  had  held. 

"  I  know  him  quite  well,"  she  replied,  "  and  he  has 
always  had  a  liking  for  me.  When  he  has  passed 
others  with  only  a  nod  or  a  word,  he  has  stopped 
to  spend  five  minutes  in  talking  to  me.  He  knows," 
to  some  extent,  too,  how  much  I  care  for  you,  and 
that  ought  to  count." 

The  young  man  winced  at  these  words.  He 
remembered  again  the  disagreeable  way  in  which 
his  father  had  arranged  this  matter,  and  it  hurt  him. 
He  wondered  what  had  passed  between  him  and 
the  Colonel,  when  they  went  off  together,  before  the 
bidding  by  the  latter  began.  Everybody  in  Jeffer- 
son would  know  that  the  farm  had  been  bought  by 
Staples  solely  on  account  of  the  understood  inten- 
tions of  his  daughter  and  Gerald.  It  was  very 
aggravating  to  have  things  turn  out  in  this  way 


196  THX    QARSTOIf    BIOAMT. 

Gerald  still  had  a  deep  regard  for  Edith,  but  he  felt 
that  at  this  time  Alma  was  the  one  who  needed  his 
sympathy,  and  do  what  he  might  he  could  not  get 
her  out  of  his  mind. 

Mrs.  Staples  came  in  and  asked  him,  in  a  way  that 
he  could  hardly  decline,  to  remain  to  tea,  and  Edith 
managed  to  get  to  the  table,  where  she  was  placed  as 
usual  at  his  side.  The  Colonel  was  wise  enough  to 
turn  the  conversation  upon  matters  unconnected  with 
the  events  of  the  day,  principally  the  excursion  he 
and  his  family  had  been  taking. 

"  We  had  a  lovely  time,"  said  he,  "  at  least  Mrs.  S. 
and  I  did.  Edie,  I  fear,  was  too  anxious  to  get  back 
to  Jefferson,  for  some  reason,  to  enjoy  things  to  their 
full  extent." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  Edith,  "  I  had  a  delight- 
ful trip.  Of  course  it  is  pleasant  to  get  home  again, 
though  I  shall  have  but  a  little  while  before  school 
begins.  Just  think  how  soon  it  will  be,  Gerald,  before 
we  shall  all  be  starting  again  for  Chicago." 

Gerald  thought  this  a  good  opportunity  to  free  him- 
self of  what  had  been  for  a  long  time  on  his  mind. 

"  You  and  Alma  will  have  to  do  without  me  here- 
after, I  fear,"  said  he.  "  It  looks  as  if  my  law  edu- 
cation was  at  an  end." 

11  How  is  that  ?"  asked  Colonel  Staples,  while  the 
others  looked  at  the  young  man,  as  if  they  could  not 
believe  their  hearing. 

"Why,  everybody  knows  that  we  are  as  poor  as 
any  church  mouse  now,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  has 
come  upon  me  all  at  once,  my  father  having  been  too 
kind  in  keeping  his  troubles  to  himself  as  long  as  he 
could,  but  I  am  quite  reconciled.  I  shall  have  to  go 
to  work  and  get  my  living." 


"rov  DO  NOT  meow  mr  FATHBB."          ItT 

Colonel  Staples  put  down  a  cup  of  tea  that  he  wa* 
raising  to  his  lips. 

"What  nonsense  the  boy  is  talking!"  he  cried, 
good-naturedly.  "  Have  you  no  friends  whom  you 
can  call  upon  ?  Do  you  think  we  are  going  to  see 
you  throw  up  a  career  in  this  way  for  want  of  a  few 
paltry  dollars  of  temporary  assistance  ?" 

The  Colonel  was  not  in  the  habit  of  thinking  of 
the  American  Dollar  in  connection  with  the  word 
"paltry,"  and  Gerald  knew  it.  He  found  himself  in 
danger  of  being  surrounded  by  another  set  of  bar- 
riers, from  which  he  would  have  difficulty  in  escap- 
ing. Whatever  bargain  his  father  had  made,  he 
would  not  so  soon,  at  least,  become  a  party  to  it,  and 
he  answered,  with  some  spirit,  that  he  could  not  think 
of  being  beholden  to  any  one  ;  that  he  would  rather 
look  his  fate  in  the  face,  and  take  the  position  in  life 
which  his  reduced  circumstances  pointed  out. 

Edith  sat  a  silent,  but  most  interested  listener  to 
this  conversation.  She  heard  her  father  offer  to  lend 
Gerald  all  the  money  he  needed,  or  to  make  such 
arrangements  with  Mr.  Garston,  Sr.,  as  would  amount 
to  the  same  thing.  Gerald  would  not  yield,  how- 
ever. 

"  I  am  better  prepared,"  he  said,  finally,  "  to  con- 
sider your  proposal,  because  I  have  already  had  it  in 
similar  form  from  another  source." 

Colonel  Staples,  his  wife  and  Edith  stared  at  their 
guest.  Who  could  have  been  so  generous  ?  They 
gave  up  the  conundrum  instantly,  and  asked  him 
directly  if  he  would  impart  the  name  of  this  would-be 
benefactor. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  would  have  guessed  it  at 
once,"  he  said  with  nonchalance.  "  It  was  _Mr, 


198  THE    CHRSTOlf    MQAMT. 

Adams,  of  course.  I  don't  think  he  would  renew  it^ 
after  what  has  occurred  to-day,"  he  added,  with  an 
attempt  to  be  humorous,  "  but  he  made  me  the  offer, 
in  good  faith,  a  fortnight  ago.  I  thought  there  were 
reasons  why  I  ought  to  decline  to  accept  it  and  I  did 
so." 

"  But  those  reasons  do  not  exist  in  my  case,"  inter- 
posed the  Colonel,  quickly.  "You  have  done  your- 
self honor  thus  far,  as  I  view  it.  Now  it  is  quite 
another  thing.  I  feel  toward  you  as  though  you 
were  a  son  of  my  own,  and  I  cannot  bear  that  you 
should  give  up  your  bright  prospects  when  every- 
thing can  be  so  easily  arranged." 

The  speaker  then  launched  into  the  description  of 
a  plan  that  he  had  formulated,  by  which  Mr.  Garston 
was  to  have  the  farm  reconveyed  to  him,  under  a 
mortgage  large  enough  to  enable  him  to  pay  every 
dollar  of  his  debts  and  have  enough  left  for  a  work- 
ing capital.  Instead  of  the  fifteen  and  twenty  per 
cent,  interest  that  he  had  been  compelled  to  pay,  only 
eight  percent. — the  lowest  rate  ever  known  then  in 
that  section — was  to  be  charged.  This  would  enable 
him  to  send  his  son  to  the  law  school,  and  with  care 
he  might  in  time  remove  all  the  incumbrances  from 
his  estate. 

Gerald  heard  him  but  imperfectly.  He  thought  of 
the  ridiculousness  of  these  two  capitalists  of  Jeffer- 
son bidding  for  him  against  each  other.  He  had 
loved  both  of  the  girls  all  his  life,  but  he  thought  he 
should  learn  to  hate  them  if  this  sort  of  thing  went 
on  much  longer. 

"  Let  me  think  of  it,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  from  the 
table.  "  I  cannot  tell  to-night  what  I  will  do." 

Edith   followed   him   alone   to   the   gate,  and   he 


THB  JrATOBB  OF  A  GIEL.  199 

embraced  her  there  in  the  semi-darkness,  as  he  felt 
he  ought.  Beautiful  as  ever,  with  new  proof  of  her 
love  in  every  glance  that  she  gave  him,  the  money 
that  her  father  was  shaking  before  his  eyes  came 
between  them.  As  her  mouth  touched  his, — that  shy 
mouth  that  had  seemed  too  reserved  for  such  things 
until  so  lately, — he  thought  the  delicate  trembling  of 
the  lips  could  never  be  felt  by  any  other  man  this 
side  the  grave.  Such  love  as  hers  is  apt  to  come  but 
once  and  build  its  nest  to  endure  all  storms  and  sea- 
sons. 

He  went  where  he  could  see  Alma's  home.  There 
was  a  lowered  light  in  her  chamber.  He  guessed 
that  she  had  heard  the  tidings,  with  what  bitter 
additions  he  knew  not,  and  that  it  had  prostrated 
her.  Instantly  remorse  took  hold  of  him.  He  would 
have  given  a  year  of  his  life  could  he  have  scaled  that 
veranda  undiscovered,  peeped  in  at  that  blind,  lifted 
that  window  and  thrown  his  arms  around  her  as  she 
lay  there,  that  she  might  shed  her  tears  against  the 
heart  that  caused  them. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   NATURE    OF   A    GIRL. 

Alma  Adams  was  as  much  excited  as  Edith  had 
been  when  she  heard  of  the  assault.  She  was 
naturally  of  a  more  self-reliant  disposition,  and 
ordinarily  would  have  borne  any  bad  news  with 


300  THE  GARSTON  BIGAMY. 

greater  equanimity,  but  this  was  so  terrible  that  it 

quite  upset  her.  She  learned  the  truth  from  her 
father  soon  after  he  reached  home,  for  he  thought  it 
Wisest  to  let  her  gain  her  information  from  him  than 
to  receive  it  second  hand  from  others,  and  possibly 
in  a  garbled  shape.  She  was  sitting  anxiously  on 
the  veranda  when  he  drove  in  at  the  gate,  and  as  his 
carriage  stopped  at  the  steps  she  hastened  to  meet 
him. 

"  Did  you  buy  it  ?"  she  asked,  hardly  waiting  till 
the  coachman  was  out  of  hearing. 

Her  breath  came  in  short  gasps  and  every  linea- 
ment in  her  face  showed  the  anxiety  with  which  she 
uttered  the  question. 

"  No,  Alma,  I  did  not,"  he  replied,  and  she  had 
time  to  notice  that  he  wore  an  appearance  of  extreme 
nervousness.  "The  place  was  sold  to  Colonel 
Staples." 

She  looked  the  image  of  extreme  surprise. 

"  Was  he  there  ?  I  did  not  know  he  had  reached 
home.  What  did  he  want  of  it  ?  How  much  did  he 
pay  ?  Tell  me  everything,"  she  said,  rapidly. 

"Wait  a  minute."  He  seemed  to  want  strength. 
*  I  have  a  very  disagreeable  story  to  tell,  and  I  need 
lime.  Get  me  an  easy  chair.1" 

Alma  flew  into  the  music-room,  through  the  lovr 
window,  and  returned  with  the  article  desired. 
Then  she  seated  herself  by  his  side,  and  waited. 

"  I  don't  know  where  to  begin,"  said  her  father, 
clearing  his  throat  of  an  obstruction  that  stuck  there 
tenaciously.  He  put  one  arm  around  her  and  drew 
her  to  his  side,  as  if  to  keep  something  from  hurting 
her.  "  I  hare  bad  news,  my  child — bad  news — -for 
you." 


IKE    NATURE   OF   A   GIRL.  201 

Her  lips  formed  the  words  "  For  me  ?*  but  she 
uttered  no  sound. 

"Alma,"  said  Mr.  Adams,  with  an  effort,  "you 
must  think  no  more  of  Gerald." 

She  swayed  a  little  under  his  arm,  but  asked  him 
why,  in  a  voice  that  surprised  him  by  its  firmness. 

"  He  is  to  marry  Edith.  John  told  me  so  before 
a  crowd  of  them,  in  the  most  insulting  manner. 
Staples  bought  the  farm  and  them  with  it.  I  would 
not  have  believed  it  of  him,  but  I  saw  it  with  my 
own  eyes.  It  was  this  way  :" 

Again  he  cleared  his  throat,  and  she  did  not 
move. 

"  I  had  told  Gerald  that  I  would  buy  the  place,  and 
after  cutting  off  merely  enough  to  protect  the  brook 
I  would  deed  the  rest  to  him,  so  that  his  father  could 
remain  there  if  he  chose.  Just  as  the  sale  began 
Staples  drove  up.  He  left  his  carriage  and  called 
Gerald  aside.  Then  Gerald  went  for  his  father  and 
he  and  Staples  had  a  confab.  When  John  left 
Staples  he  looked  over  to  me  with  an  expression  that 
said,  *I  don't  need  any  of  your  help.'  The  bidding 
began.  I  bid  five  thousand  dollars — more  than  the 
place  was  worth — and  he  bid  six.  I  bid  seven,  and 
he  five  hundred  more.  Then  I  said  eight  and  he  said 
nine  There  was  no  use.  He  would  have  paid  the 
last  cent  he  had  rather  than  have  allowed  me  to  beat 
him,  and  I  let  it  go.  He  was  buying  more  than  a 
farm— he  was  buying  a  son-in-law  as  well — and  he 
could  afford  to  pay  high  !" 

Adams  had  raised  his  voice  toward  the  end  of  his 
speech,  until  it  could  have  been  heard  by  any  person 
within  two  hundred  feet.  Alma's  only  action  was  to 
put  her  hand  gently  upon  his  lips,  as  a  signal  to  him 


203  THE   GARSTOW   BIGAMY. 

that  he  was  speaking  too  loud,  having  done  which 
she  waited  for  him  to  proceed. 

"I  thought  of  you,  Alma,  as  the  bidding  went  on. 
I  knew,  my  girl,  that  you  loved  him,  but  I  did  not 
believe  that  you  would  think  it  becoming  in  me  to 
buy  you  a  husband  in  the  public  market,  where 
every  spectator  could  see  that  he  was  the  real  article 
over  which  the  contest  was  being  waged.  There  is 
too  much  of  the  Adams  blood  in  you  for  that.  You 
have  the  pride  that  goes  with  your  race  on  both  sides. 
Staples  paid  five  thousand  for  the  farm  and  four  for 
Gerald.  I  thought  him  too  dear  at  that  figure. 
Tell  me,  Alma,  was  x  not  right  ?" 

The  daughter  inclined  her  head.  Her  brain  was 
whirling.  Her  heart  beat  like  a  trip-hammer.  She 
was  afraid  to  make  any  pronounced  demonstration 
lest  she  should  betray  the  extent  of  her  emotion. 

"But  I  have  not  told  you  all,"  her  father  went  on, 
"  though  it  is  really  of  small  moment,  except  for  the 
disgrace  of  such  an  occurrence.  When  John  snarled 
out  the  particulars  of  the  bargain, — when  he  threw 
it  at  me  before  their  all  that  his  son  was  to  marry 
Edith,  and  told  me  to  tell  you  of  it — I  forgot  myself 
and — and  struck  him.  This  ring  was  in  the  way  and 
cut  his  forehead."  He  showed  her  the  jewel,  still 
red  from  the  blood  he  had  drawn.  "  At  that  moment 
Gerald  came  up  and  threw  me  down.  Then  we 
were  separated  and  I  came  home.  I  was  ashamed 
of  the  part  I  had  played  as  soon  as  I  had  time  to 
think,  but  I  couldn't  help  doing  it.  John  was  fear- 
fully exasperating." 

Alma  rose  feebly,  saying  that  she  would  go  to  hei 
room  for  a  little  while,  and  her  father  went  to  tell 
his  wife  something  of  what  had  occurred. 


THE  NATURE  OF  A    frlBL.  203 

"Go  up  and  see  if  there  is  anything  she  needs," 
he  said.  "  You  can  talk  to  her  better  than  I  car. 
Tell  her  to  forget  him — to  put  him  out  of  her  mind 
and  never  let  him  come  there  again.  He  and  his 
father  have  outraged  our  feelings.  She  will  see  that 
nothing  more  can  ever  occur  between  them  and  us." 

When  she  came  down,  an  hour  later,  the  thin,  pale 
face  of  the  invalid  wife  and  mother  was  turned 
toward  her  husband  with  its  usual  mildness  of 
expression. 

"  I  have  tried  to  console  her,"  she  said,  "  but  you 
must  not  under  estimate  the  shock.  She  loves  him 
with  all  the  strength  of  her  nature,  and  she  will  not 
get  over  it  in  a  day.  She  will  require  nursing,  and 
perhaps  a  change  of  scene.  And  I  cannot  say  that 
^ven  those  things  will  cure  her." 

Knowing  nothing  of  what  had  happened,  except 
that  her  father  and  Mr.  Adams  had  quarrelled  and 
that  Garston  and  Gerald  had  been  engaged  in  a 
personal  altercation  with  the  latter,  Edith  Staples 
rame  to  call  on  Alma  the  next  morning,  as  she  would 
have  done  on  any  other  day.  She  could  not  see  that 
the  difficulties  of  their  parents  ought  to  cause  any 
estrangement  between  herself  and  her  friend,  and 
supposed  that  Mr.  Adams  had  had  no  interest  in 
the  sale  of  the  Garston  property  except  to  protect 
the  brook,  which  matter  she  was  sure  her  father 
would  arrange  to  his  satisfaction.  She  felt  certain 
that  Gerald's  love  was  hers  alone  and  that  Alma  not 
only  knew  it  but  approved  of  it.  So  she  came  up 
the  walk  as  brightly  as  ever,  and  saluted  Mrs.  Adams 
with  a  kiss,  as  she  had  done  every  time  she  had 
met  her,  since  she  could  remember. 

"We  came  home  yesterday,"  she  said,  "and  I  was 


804  IBB  QAJWTON  BJOAMf. 

too  tired  to  run  down  last  night    Where  b  Alma  9 

It  seems  an  age  since  I  saw  her/* 

"  She  is  in  her  room,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  **  and  I 
think  asleep.  She  is  not  well.  I  was  up  with  her 

most  of  the  night." 

Edith  wore  a  look  of  the  deepest  regret 

"  Why,  I  had  not  heard  of  it,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
hope  it  is  nothing  serious." 

"  Nothing  but  what  time  will  cure,"  was  the  calm 
answer.  Mrs.  Adams  wondered  if  all  of  this  apparent 
surprise  could  be  real.  "  She  will  have  to  be  still  for 
some  days,  and  see  no  company,  however.** 

"  That  is  too  bad.  I  want  to  see  her  so  much  J 
Tell  her  I  called,  won't  you,  and  let  me  know  the  very 
earliest  minute  I  can  go  to  her  room.  I  promise  to 
be  very  thoughtful  and  not  excite  her." 

An  hour  later  a  messenger  arrived  from  the  Staples 
household  with  a  beautiful  bouquet  of  flowers,  culled 
on  their  grounds  and  tastefully  arranged  by  Edith's 
own  hands.  Alma's  quick  ear  caught  the  purport  of 
the  words  which  the  servant  spoke  at  the  door,  and  a 
tide  of  painful  thoughts  swept  over  her.  Toward 
evening  she  surprised  her  mother  by  asking  what  she 
had  done  with  the  flowers  that  Edith  had  sent  to  her, 
and  on  being  told  that  she  had  feared  the  gift  would 
annoy  her,  answered  gently  : 

"  How  could  you  think  that  ?  Please  have  them 
sent  up  to  me.  Let  me  not  lose  Edie  with  the  rest. 
It  is  not  her  fault,  poor  girl !" 

This  was  taken  as  an  encouraging  stgn.  The 
flowers  were  placed  where  Alma  could  reach  them 
easily  and  many  times  each  hour  she  inhaled  their 
fragrance.  The  next  morning  another  bouquet  was 
sent  to  take  their  place,  and  each  day  after  that 


THE  NATURE  OF  A  QIEL.  205 

another,  and  with  each  was  a  tiny  card  with  some 
words  of  endearment  and  the  sender's  name.  But 
for  more  than  a  week  Alma  did  not  leave  her 
chamber. 

On  the  fifth  day  Mary  Carson,  chief  among  the 
domestics  of  the  Adamses,  came  tiptoeing  into  the 
sick  room,  and  slipped  a  note  under  the  sheets  of  the 
bed  with  a  very  mysterious  air. 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  done  wrong  to  bring  it,  miss," 
she  said,  "  without  telling  your  mother,  but  the 
young  man  particularly  begged  it  of  me,  and  said  it 
was  most  important  that  I  should  put  it  into  your 
own  hands." 

Alma  glanced  at  the  writing,  though  she  knew 
instinctively  that  but  one  "  young  man  "  could  have 
sent  her  a  note  with  such  a  request. 

"You  did  quite  right,  Mary,"  she  answered  all  of 
a  tremble.  "When  you  go  down  tell  mamma  that  I 
am  quite  comfortable  and  shall  need  nothing  at 
present." 

"Yes,  miss."  The  maid  tripped  away,  much 
relieved.  "  I  hope  there's  some  way  for  them  to  make 
it  up,"  she  said  to  herself,  for  she  adored  her  young 
mistress  and  divined  the  cause  of  her  illness. 

When  she  was  gone,  Alma  broke  the  seal  of  the 
letter,  and  read  what  follows  : 

"  MY  POOR  CHILD  : — They  tell  me  that  you  are  ill 
and  I  feel  that  I  am  in  some  way  the  unhappy  cause 
of  your  trouble,  though  Heaven  knows  I  would  suffer 
anything  rather  than  that  the  slightest  harm  should 
happen  to  you.  I  do  not  know  what  they  have  told 
you,  and  that  makes  it  hard  for  me  to  defend  myself. 


206  THE   GARSTON    BIGAMY. 

But  if  I  had  an  hour  by  your  side  I  am  sure  I  could 
convince  you  that  I  am  not  altogether  to  blame. 

"  When  I  sprang  upon  your  father  I  was  not 
responsible  for  what  I  did.  I  came  up  just  in  time 
to  see  my  own  father's  face  covered  with  blood  from 
the  gash  in  his  forehead  and  I  acted  without  reflec- 
tion. I  hear  that  he  said  something  to  him  about 
Edith  and  me,  which  enraged  him,  and  that  this 
caused  the  blow.  Whatever  he  said  was  caused  by 
his  cumulating  anger  and  ought  not  to  have  been 
taken  seriously.  For  my  own  part,  I  am  very  sorry 
that  anything  of  the  kind  occurred.  But  it  is  too 
late  to  talk  about  that  now. 

"  What  I  want  most  to  tell  you,  my  angel  girl,  is 
this  :  I  love  you  more  at  this  moment  than  I  ever 
did.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  have  but  one  hope 
in  life,  and  that  is  your  promise  that  I  shall  one  day 
call  you  my  own.  This  you  have  vowed  to  me  and  I 
shall  hold  you  to  your  word. 

"These  miserable  quarrels  over  money  matters 
must  not  keep  us  apart,  my  love.  I  feel  strong  to 
wait,  now.  Only  send  me  word,  I  beg,  that  you  still 
care  for  me. 

"  Yours  while  life  remains, 

"  GERALD." 

Girl  nature  is  the  same  the  world  over.  Faith  in 
the  one  they  love  may  be  shaken  until  it  seems  as  if 
not  a  shred  could  remain,  and  then,  at  the  touch  of 
the  enchanter's  wand,  it  is  rehabilitated  in  all  its  full- 
ness, in  all  its  strength.  Alma  had  been  trying  to 
accustom  herself  to  the  thought  that  everything  was 
over  between  her  and  her  lover.  She  had  grown 
faint  and  dizzy  in  contemplating  a  future  in  which 


THE  NATURE   OP   A   GIRL.  207 

he  had  no  part.  She  had  said  to  herself  that  she 
must  be  brave,  and  bear  up,  and  remember  her  pride, 
as  her  father  had  told  her.  But  now,  as  she  read  the 
letter,  she  forgot  it  all.  She  remembered  only  the 
dear  eyes  that  had  looked  into  hers,  the  arms  that 
had  encircled  her,  the  lips  that  had  been  pressed  to 
her  lips.  She  read,  she  comprehended,  she  believed  ! 

A  burst  of  tears  was  the  first  effect  of  the  news. 
Her  overcharged  nerves  gave  way  before  the  unex- 
pected change  in  the  state  of  affairs.  Then  there 
succeeded  to  this  an  extreme  calm,  a  peacefulness 
the  like  of  which  she  could  not  recall  in  her  experi- 
ence. She  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  bathed  her 
face  with  a  lotion  that  lay  near  her,  and  rang  the  bell 
for  Mary. 

"  Brush  my  hair,  if  you  please,"  she  said,  as  the  girl 
made  her  appearance.  "  I  think  I  can  sit  up.  I  am 
much  better." 

The  maid,  who  had  been  under  a  shade  of  doubt 
as  to  the  possible  effect  of  the  smuggled  note,  showed 
her  gratification. 

"You  must  have  had  new  medicine  to  make  you  so 
much  stronger,  Miss  Alma,"  she  said. 

"Yes."  Alma's  face  grew  lighter  as  she  spoke. 
"  I  have  had  new  medicine,  Mary,  and  I  owe  it  all  to 
you.  Believe  me,  I  shall  not  soon  forget  it." 

When  Mrs.  Adams  came  up,  she  was  gratified  to 
see  the  marked  improvement  in  the  appearance  of 
her  daughter,  and  after  a  short  talk  she  was  per- 
suaded to  go  for  a  ride,  an  exercise  she  had  not  taken 
since  Alma  became  ill.  The  pliant  Mary  then 
brought  a  tablet  and  other  writing  materials,  and 
Alma  was  left  alone  while  she  composed  an  answer 
to  Gerald's  epistle.  It  was  written  in  the  warmest 


208  THJ?  GAKSTON   BIGAMY. 

tone,  and  was  much  longer  than  the  one  she  had 
received. 

"I  do  not  see  how  I  could  have  doubted  you, even 
under  such  provocation,"  was  the  burden  of  it. 
"  Whatever  happens,  I  shall  never  do  so  again.  You 
may  trust  Mary  to  bring  me  your  letters,  as  she  is  to 
be  relied  upon  implicitly.  Leave  them  as  you  used 
under  the  stone  on  the  wall,  and  look  for  my  answers 
in  the  same  spot.'* 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"CONSIDERING  HIS  TEMPTATIONS." 

The  arrangements  between  Colonel  Staples  and 
John  Garston  did  not  wait  for  any  decision  of  Ger- 
ald's. The  morning  after  the  sale  the  farmer  met 
the  Colonel  by  appointment  at  the  office  of  a  village 
lawyer  and  they  were  not  long  in  coming  to  an 
understanding.  The  Colonel  paid  the  amount  due 
the  Iowa  Investment  Company  and  advanced  enough 
beside  to  clear  every  debt  owed  on  the  personal  prop- 
erty. He  confessed  that  the  second  mortgage  was 
his  own,  so  that  that  required  no  other  attention. 
When  all  was  disposed  of  he  agreed  to  have  a  deed 
of  the  premises  conveyed  to  Garston  under  a  mort- 
gage of  sixty-five  hundred  dollars,  which  would  put 
John  in  possession  of  quite  a  little  sum  of  ready  cash 
with  which  to  tide  over  the  winter  and  send  Gerald 
back  to  Chicago  to  the  office  of  Thurston  &  Thurston. 
The  generous  nature  of  these  proposals  made  quib- 


•"CONSIDERING  On  TBlttTATIOWg.W  90$ 

bling  impossible,  and  the  papers  were  made  out  oil 
the  spot,  signed,  sealed  and  sent  to  the  county  clerk's 
office  to  be  recorded. 

44 1  offered  last  night  to  advance  Gerald  money 
enough  to  take  him  through,"  said  the  Colonel,"  but 
he  had  a  touch  of  pride  that  stood  in  the  way.  It 
will  be  all  right,  now,  coming  directly  from  you.  I 
would  not  have  him  give  up  his  career  for  any» 
thing." 

"  I  thank  you,**  was  the  answer,  as  Mr.  Garston 
stood  in  front  of  the  office  mirror  to  arrange  the 
bandage  on  his  head.  "  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to 
make  it  right  to  you  some  day.  I  am  not  one  of 
those  who  forget  a  kindness — nor  an  injury  either,** 
he  added,  significantly. 

"  Oh,  let  that  drop,"  said  Colonel  Staples,  pleas- 
antly. "  Adams  and  you  have  fought  long  enough. 
It  was  an  ugly  blow  that  he  gave  you  yesterday,  but 
he  couldn't  have  thought  of  the  ring.  I'll  wager  he 
was  sorry  enough  for  it  the  next  minute." 

Garston  put  on  his  hat  and  left  the  glass. 

"  It's  not  the  first  blow  he's  given  me,  nor  the 
worst  one,"  he  muttered. 

"  Well,  let  it  pass.  You've  got  your  farm  again, 
and  if  you  do  well  you  can  clear  it  in  a  few  years. 
Stick  to  wheat-raising,  John,  and  let  old  sores  rest. 
And,  by  the  way,  I'd  fix  that  brook  up  if  I  were  you. 
The  water  will  spoil  twenty  acres  or  so  of  good 
land.  I  meant  to  have  spoken  to  you  about  it  before 
the  papers  were  signed." 

"  Did  you  ?"  The  tone  was  almost  impertinent, 
considering  what  had  passed.  "  I  wouldn't  have  taken 
it  under  such  conditions— no,  not  if  it  had  been  my 


flO  THE  GARSTON  BIGAMT. 

only  chance.  Fix  up  the  brook  !  For  him  t  \  shauW 
say  not !" 

The  Colonel  did  not  think  it  wise  to  press  the 
matter,  for  he  thought  he  could  get  this  concession 
later. 

**  You'll  send  Gerald  back  to  his  law  books, 
though  ?"  he  said,  interrogatively, 

"Yes,  if  he  wants  to  go.  But  I  wish  that  Adams 
girl  wasn't  going  to  be  so  near  him.  I  don't  like  the 
idea  of  their  being  off  where  they  can  see  each  other. 
He's  promised  to  break  off  all  connection  with  her, 
but  young  folks  are  uncertain." 

The  Colonel  was  a  trifle  flustered. 

"  You  don't  think  he  cares  anything  for  her — any- 
thing special  ?"  said  he. 

"  No,  not  in  one  sense.  But  they've  been  with 
each  other  since  they  were  children,  and  she  is 
strong-minded.  Gerald  is  a  good  boy,  but  he  is 
influenced  easier  than  I  wish  he  was.  I'll  be  plain 
with  you,  Colonel.  If  I  had  as  much  money  as  you 
have — if  I  was  in  good  circumstances,  I  mean — I 
should  propose  to  him  to  get  married  at  once,  instead 
of  waiting  three  or  four  years.  He  hasn't  anything, 
nor  I  either,  but  it  would  have  settled  things,  if  it 
could  have  been  done." 

Colonel  Staples  reddened  as  he  understood  the 
insinuation,  but  he  rallied  immediately. 

"  I've  only  one  thing  in  the  world  to  live  for 
besides  my  wife,"  he  said,  "  and  that  is  Edith.  If 
I've  tried  to  put  away  a  few  dollars  it's  been  in  the 
hope  that  they  would  help  her  to  ease  and  comfort 
when  I  could  no  longer  provide  for  her.  Her  mind 
is  all  set  on  Gerald,!  have  seen  that  for  a  long  time, 
and  approving,  as  I  have,  of  the  young  man,  I've 


"OONSIDEEIN&  HIS  TEMPTATIONS/          211 

been  glad  of  It.  I  can't  hope  to  keep  my  daughter 
always,  and  I  don't  know  any  one  I'd  rather  her 
choice  would  have  fallen  upon.  You've  been  plain 
With  me,  and  I'll  be  the  same  with  you.  If  they're 
of  a  mind  to  marry  this  year,  I'll  give  them  every 
help  that  I  can.  Then  they  can  go  back  to  Chicago 
with  nothing  to  worry  either  of  us.  Still,  I  must  say 
that  I  haven't  any  real  fear  of  Alma.  Why,  he's 
been  attached  to  Edith  as  long  as  he's  known  her." 

On  the  third  day  after  this,  one  of  those  days  when 
Alma  was  ill  in  bed,  and  before  she  had  received 
Gerald's  passionate  letter,  Colonel  Staples  met 
Adams  as  he  was  driving  out  on  a  road  near  the  vil- 
lage, and  pulled  up  his  horse  to  speak  with  him.  It 
was  impossible  to  help  seeing  that  the  mill-owner 
wore  an  air  of  reserve  and  did  not  seem  over  cordial 
in  his  demeanor  but  he  could  not  let  that  keep  him 
from  saying  what  he  wanted. 

"  I've  asked  John  to  fix  up  the  bank  of  that  brook 
again,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and  I  think  he'll  come 
around  to  it  in  time,  though  he's  a  little  cantanker- 
ous now." 

"  You  didn't  take  pains  to  put  it  in  your  paper, 
when  you  sold  him  back  the  land,  it  seems,"  said 
Adams,  sarcastically. 

•'  No,  I  forgot  it  till  it  was  too  late.  But  I  spoke 
to  him  afterward,  and  I'll  go  at  him  again.  He's 
only  spoiling  a  lot  of  good  land,  and  he  ought,  as  I 
told  him,  to  let  by-gones  be  by-gones  after  this." 

Mr.  Adams  poked  a  fly  from  the  rump  of  his  horse 
with  his  whip. 

"  Don't  put  yourself  out,"  said  he,  with  exasperating 
slowness.  "  I've  just  bought  the  farm  above  me 


SIS  IBB  QAKSTON    BIGAMY. 

belonging  to  Mr.  Estes.  I  shall  cut  a  channel  te» 
rods  long  or  so  and  run  the  brook-water  around. 
There  won't  be  any  to  bother  him  nor  you  in  a  fort- 
night more.  I  could  have  got  along  with  the  steam 
alone,  and  I  shall  mainly  now,  but  the  water  would 
be  handy  in  case  of  a  break-down  The  quart  a 
bushel  extra  which  I  charge  makes  it  about  even." 

There  was  a  smoothness  in  his  manner  of  deliv- 
ery  that  belied  the  sarcasm  of  his  words,  and  the 
Colonel  did  not  know  just  how  to  reply. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  feel  anything  against  me,  Alvah, 
because  I  bid  on  the  farm  "  he  said,  presently.  "It 
was  a  public  sale  I  haven't  made  anything  out  of 
it.  I  only  wanted  to  help  John,  as  an  old  friend." 

Adams  lifted  his  eyes  and  surveyed  the  speaker. 

"You'll  get  what  you  bargained  for,  of  course,"  he 
answered.  "John  wouldn't  go  back  on  his  word 
after  you've  helped  him  out  of  the  hole  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.'* 

"Don't  you?  I  thought  maybe  you  did  !  Why, 
you're  welcome  to  the  boy  !  I've  forbidden  Alma  to 
ever  see  him  again,  so  we'll  not  stand  in  your  way. 
Your  money  has  bought  him.  He's  yours.  I 
wouldn't  give  my  girl  to  him  if  he  came  on  his  knees 
and  begged  it !  When  I  get  a  son-in-law,  Colonel,  i 
shan't  take  him  from  under  the  hammer  of  an  auc- 
tioneer! 

With  this  he  hit  the  horse  with  the  whip  and 
drove  away.  Staples  was  too  angry  for  a  few 
moments  to  follow  him,  or  there  might  have  been 
another  assault  to  record.  When  he  could  command 
himself  he  only  said,  "  It's  hit  him  harder  than  I  sup- 
posed," and  went  home  to  talk  it  over  with  Edith. 
First,  however,  he  consulted  her  mother,  and  that 


"CONSIDERING  HIS  TEMPTATIONS."  813 

wise  woman,  knowing  her  daughter  much  better  than 
ne  did,  advised  procrastination.  She  said  Edith  was 
so  high-minded  that  she  would  resent  anything  that 
looked  like  showing  distrust  or  fear  of  her  lover,  and 
that  the  present  was  no  time  to  push  anything. 

"  If  Mr.  Adams  is  as  angry  as  you  think,"  she 
said,  "  it  is  probable  that  he  will  refuse  to  let  Alma 
go  back  to  school  with  Edith.  That  would  simplify 
things.  It  is  terrible  to  think  that  they  must  suffer 
from  this  business,  when  they  have  been  like  sisters 
so  long.  Don't  cut  their  friendship  any  shorter 
than  is  necessary,  and,  if  you  can,  let  some  one 
besides  you  take  the  first  step." 

So  Edith,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  extent  of  the 
storm  that  was  raging,  plucked  her  bouquet  each 
morning  for  Alma,  who  was  delighted  with  its 
fragrance  as  well  as  with  the  kindness  of  the  heart 
that  sent  it  to  her.  On  the  seventh  day,  hearing 
that  Alma  was  out  of  bed,  she  brought  the  flowers  in 
person.  To  her  great  joy  she  was  permitted  to  see 
her  friend  in  her  room,  where  she  sat  arrayed  in 
white,  and  looking,  as  young  and  pretty  invalids  who 
have  hopeful  minds  always  do,  very  charming 
indeed. 

"  Alma,  my  darling !" 

"  Dear,  dear  Edie  !" 

How  Edith  had  worried  about  her ;  how  she  had 
missed  her  society,  without  which  Jefferson  did  not 
seem  at  all  like  itself  ;  how  happy  she  had  been  to 
learn  each  day  that  Alma  was  better,  and  how  glad 
she  was  that  she  was  now  evidently  on  the  road  to 
complete  recovery  was  told  with  all  the  earnestness 
that  characterizes  such  protestations,  when  the  one 
who  gives  them  is  nearing  twenty  years  of  age.  Alma 


214  THIS   OAKSTON    BTGAMT. 

responded  in  terms  hardly  less  warm,  and  then  both 
launched  into  the  liveliest  conversation,  in  which 
everything  in  Jefferson  and  vicinity  bore  a  con- 
spicuous part,  except  the  one  person  who  had  until 
that  day  formed  the  main  object  of  all  their  discus- 
sions. Neither  mentioned  nor  in  any  way  alluded 
to  the  name  of  Gerald  Garston,  which  was  certainly 
rather  strange. 

An  hour  like  this,  and  then  Edith  departed,  saying 
that  she  feared  to  stay  longer  lest  she  should  tax  the 
wasted  energies  of  her  friend,  and  that  she  should 
expect  her  at  her  house  as  soon  as  she  could  ride 
out. 

Hope  and  Love  are  two  wonderful  physicians.  It 
was  but  a  few  days  after  this  that  the  invalid  told 
her  mother  she  wanted  to  go  down  into  the  grove 
and  rest  by  herself  in  the  summer-house.  She  would 
need  only  Mary  Carson  to  keep  her  company  there, 
and  she  did  not  wish,  on  any  account,  to  be  dis- 
turbed, as  she  felt  the  need  of  absolute  quiet.  Mrs 
Adams  consented  immediately  to  the  plan,  and 
Mary  joyfully  prepared  to  accompany  her. 

"  If  I  should  be  out  late,  don't  mind,  mamma," 
•aid  Alma,  as  she  was  starting.  "  I  will  send  Mary 
up  for  a  lunch  if  I  get  hungry.  I  feel  that  the  air 
of  the  woods  is  what  I  want.  The  air  of  the  woods — 
and  perfect  isolation." 

Alma  wondered  how  she  could  look  her  mother  in 
the  face  and  talk  to  her  like  this.  In  all  her  life  she 
had  never  till  this  day  deceived  her  in  anything. 
She  must  be  a  very  bad  girl,  she  reflected,  when  such 
a  falsehood  gave  her  no  compunctions.  But  the 
letter  from  Gerald  that  Mary  had  found  under  the 


215 


stone  that  morning  had  begged  her  to  arrange  some 
place  where  he  could  see  her — some  spot  where 
neither  of  the  objecting  parents  could  trace  them. 
She  could  think  of  none  but  the  summer-house,  and 
she  felt  that,  with  Mary  to  accompany  her,  there 
would  be  no  great  impropriety  in  meeting  him  within 
its  walls.  Besides,  there  would  be  a  poetic  repara- 
tion for  the  doubt  in  him  that  she  had  expressed 
when  he  asked  her  the  other  time  to  meet  him  there. 
His  letters  received  of  late  had  been  so  tender,  so 
passionately  idyllic,  that  she  would  have  felt  little 
uneasiness  even  had  Mary  not  been  available.  And 
with  that  discreet  young  person  upon  the  premises- 
she  need  not  be  too  near,  either — what  more  could 
Mrs.  Grundy  ask  ? 

Mary's  intentions  in  the  matter  were  of  the  most 
honorable  kind,  though  her  part  may  seem  open  to 
criticism.  She  adored  her  young  mistress,  and  had 
shared  in  common  with  others  of  the  household  the 
belief  that  she  and  Gerald  "  were  just  made  for  each 
other."  When  Alma  was  prostrated  by  the  news 
that  her  father  brought,  the  servants  knew  what  was 
the  trouble  almost  as  soon  as  she,  and  all  called  it 
"  a  shame,"  and  said  it  was  a  dreadful  pity  that  so 
nice  a  couple  should  be  torn  apart  because  their 
elders  were  silly  enough  to  indulge  in  a  quarrel  over 
a  piece  of  land  or  a  mill-brook.  Mary  was  of  a 
romantic  mood.  She  had  read  many  tales  in  which 
the  fair  heroine  experienced  the  severest  tribulations 
before  she  became  the  wife  of  the  hero,  and  had 
there  learned  that  no  method,  however  uncommon, 
is  deemed  improper  that  has  for  its  object  the  uniting 
of  young  and  faithful  hearts.  Gerald  had  offered  to 
pay  her  for  carrying  his  messages,  but  she  would 


816  THE  GARSTON  BIGAMY. 

take  nothing.  She  only  desired  to  serve  in  what  she 
fully  believed  to  be  a  righteous  cause. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
Alma  and  Mary  reached  the  summer-house,  and  it 
was  but  a  few  minutes  later  that  Gerald  opened 
the  unlocked  gate  of  the  enclosure,  as  had  been 
arranged  in  accordance  with  Alma's  letter.  Mary 
had  discreetly  retired  to  another  part  of  the  grounds, 
and  Alma  came  alone  to  meet  him.  If  either  had 
had  doubts  of  the  other  at  any  time,  all  was  dispelled 
by  the  first  glance.  His  arms  were  opened,  and  like 
a  dove  to  its  nest  she  flew  into  their  embrace. 

" My  darling!  my  poor  little  pet!"  he  exclaimed. 
a  How  tired  and  pale  they  have  made  you  with  their 
Senseless  stories  !  Come  into  the  house  and  let  me 
tell  you  over  and  over  again  that  nothing  can  ever 
separate  us — that  the  more  they  try  to  wean  me  from 
you  the  stronger  is  my  love  !" 

They  went  in  together.  Too  happy  at  first  to 
answer  him  in  words,  she  lay  contentedly  against  his 
breast,  that  haven  to  which  she  had  so  long  wanted 
to  fly. 

"  And  to  think  that  you  have  met  me  here,  of  your 
own  accord  !'*  he  cried.  "  Could  anything  else  in 
the  world  have  given  me  equal  delight  ?" 

**  I  brought  Mary,"  she  whispered. 

"For  the  sake  of  appearances  only.  You  would 
not  have  been  afraid  of  me  alone  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  allowed  him  to  taste  the 
honey  on  her  lips  without  a  pretence  of  diffidence. 

"  How  long  can  you  remain  F  he  asked. 

"  As  long  as  you  wish." 


"CONSIDERING  HIS  TEMPTATIONS.'*  217 

"Until  eight  or  nine,  if  you  desire.  But  you  will 
tire  of  my  company  before  that  hour." 

"  Shall  I  ?" 

He  looked  and  acted  as  if  that  was  a  contingency 
not  likely  to  arise.  When  they  could  command 
themselves  a  little  better  they  exchanged  mutual 
confidences  in  relation  to  the  state  of  affairs  at  home 
She  told  him  that  her  father  had  become  very  bitter 
against  him,  thinking  it  was  all  his  fault  that  Mr. 
Garston  had  insulted  him  at  the  auction,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  had  refused  to  listen  to  a 
word  of  defence  from  her.  She  frankly  related 
what  he  had  said  about  Colonel  Staples  buying  a 
son-in-law  at  public  vendue,  for  Mr.  Adams  had  not 
scrupled  to  tell  her  the  conversation  he  had  had 
with  that  gentleman.  Gerald  reddened,  and  replied 
that  his  father  had  said  he  would  never  own  him  as 
a  son  if  he  spoke  to  her  again.  He  was  obliged,  he 
said,  to  creep  away  like  a  thief  under  false  pre- 
tences, in  order  to  be  there  now. 

"  But  all  this  has  only  made  my  love  the  stronger,** 
he  added,  seeing  the  thick  cloud  that  overspread  her 
face.  "  If  anything  had  been  needed  to  cement  my 
heart  to  yours — and  nothing  was — this  action  on  his 
part  would  have  done  it." 

"  There  is  so  much  said  about  Edie,"  she  com- 
mented. "  Can  it  be  that  it  has  no  foundation  what- 
ever in  any  act  of  yours  ?" 

It  was  a  direct  question  and  he  knew  it  must  have 
a.  direct  answer. 

**  You  know  my  relations  with  her,"  he  said. 
••They  have  been  those  of  a  friend  merely.  I  know 
she  likes  me,  and  perhaps,  if  you  were  not  in 
existence,  something  might  have  come  about  between 


218  THE    GAR8TON    BIGAMY, 

us,  in  time.  The  Colonel  is  altogether  too  officious 
in  arranging  things  for  me.  I  am  old  enough  to 
make  my  own  choice  in  a  matter  of  such  importance. 
I  do  not  like  to  say  anything  against  him,  after  he 
has  done  my  father  such  a  service,  but  he  has  made 
me  feel  contemptible.  You  see  how  it  is,  Alma.  I 
have  to  go  to  his  house,  and  I  have  to  see  Edith,  for 
she  is  always  there,  and  that  makes  people  talk. 
And  then  I  have  to  see  you  in  this  surreptitious  way, 
because  of  those  confounded  quarrels  !" 

Alma  looked  up  at  him  searchingly,  for  she  still 
lay  in  his  arms. 

"  Do  you  think  she  loves  you,  Gerald  ?  Or  rather, 
does  she  ?  For  if  she  does,  you  know  it  very  well." 

He  hesitated  for  some  seconds. 

"  She  likes  me,  at  least,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  I  don't 
want  to  appear  egotistical.  She  likes  me,  and  she 
would  be  glad  to  please  her  father.  But  what  does 
it  matter,  Alma  ?" 

The  girl  was  gazing  thoughtfully  on  the  floor. 

"Matter?  It  matters  a  great  deal.  If  she  loves 
you  she  will  have  to  suffer.  I  know  what  it  is  to 
think  you  are  going  to  belong  to  another.  I  hope 
she  does  not  love  you  enough  to  go  through  what  I 
did  a  week  ago." 

He  embraced  her  more  tenderly  yet,  and  reminded 
her  gently  that  all  her  fears  might  have  been  saved 
by  the  secret  marriage  which  he  had  begged  her  to 
tnake. 

"  Yes,  that  would  have  disposed  ot  one  set  of 
fears,"  she  answered,  "and  perhaps  given  me 
another  and  a  harder  set  to  bear,  in  its  place.  I 
want  to  walk  up  to  the  altar  with  you,  Gerald,  before 
everybody  If  my  parents  continue  as  obdurate  as 


*  CONSIDERING   HIS  TEMrTATIONS."  219 

they  now  are,  I  may  have  to  choose  between  them 
and  you,  but  I  want  to  do  it  openly  and  not  like  one 
who  seeks  the  darkness  to  accomplish  that  for  which 
he  fears  the  daylight.  We  will  meet  here  till  we 
can  do  better,  but  let  us  hope  that  something  will 
soon  interfere  in  our  behalf." 

He  reminded  her  that  it  would  be  but  a  short 
time  now  before  he  should  have  to  return  to  his  law 
office  and  she  to  her  seminary,  in  Chicago. 

"  That  is  the  hardest  thing  I  have  to  tell  you,"  she 
said,  with  an  effort.  "  I  am  not  to  go  back  there. 
They  are  thinking  of  another  school  nearer  here,  but 
at  any  rate  I  cannot  return  to  the  old  one.  They 
do  not  want  me  to  be  near  you — nor  near  Edith» 
either,"  she  added,  lowering  her  voice.  "  I  never 
knew  them  so  set  in  anything  before.  Mamma  does 
not  say  much  but  I  can  see  that  she  agrees  with  him." 

Gerald  was  quite  upset  by  this  piece  of  informa* 
tion. 

"  I  hardly  care  whether  I  go  or  not,  then,"  he 
answered,  with  a  crestfallen  look.  "  I  have  borne 
the  trouble  at  the  house  because  I  thought  that  in  a 
few  weeks  you  and  I  would  be  where  we  could  see 
each  other  with  no  difficulties  in  the  way.  If  this 
keeps  on,  Alma,  I  shall  give  up  my  studies.  They 
will  drive  me  to  it." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  she  exclaimed,  not  displeased,  neverthe- 
less, to  receive  this  evidence  of  the  regret  that  he 
felt  at  her  information.  "  You  must  persevere  in 
your  profession,  whatever  happens.  I  should  hate  to 
think  that  I  had  done  anything  to  retard  your  suc- 
cess in  life.  Edith  will  be  there,"  she  added,  with  a 
trace  of  mischievous  meaning,  "  so  you  will  not  be 
wholly  lonesome." 


S20  TUB  GARSTTOff  BI0AXY. 

"  Don't,  Alma.     That  hurts  me,"  he  protested. 

"It  should  not,"  she  replied,  gently.  "  She  and  ! 
are  the  dearest  friends.  I  know  I  could  trust  hef 
with  you.  I  know  I  could  trust  you  anywhere. 
Only,  don't — be  very  careful,  Gerald — don't  do  any- 
thing  to  make  her  think  you  care  for  her.  It— it 
would  be — cruel." 

He  said  "  Hush  !"  in  a  whisper,  and  then  carried 
her  to  a  sofa  near  by  and  placed  her  upon  it.  She 
was  a  good  weight  for  him  to  bear,  but  what  lover 
ever  realized  the  meaning  of  avoirdupois  when  his 
beloved  one  was  the  object. 

"You  are  the  sick  one  to-day  ;  the  last  time  it  was 
I,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  Now  it  is  my  turn  to  play 
the  nurse." 

44  All  the  medicine  I  need  is  to  have  you  by  me," 
she  murmured. 

44  It  was  all  I  needed,  too,  if  I  had  been  so  candid 
as  to  own  it,"  he  smiled. 

They  talked  about  the  school  affair,  and  could  not 
reconcile  themselves  to  it,  but  it  was  agreed  that 
wherever  she  was  sent  he  would  find  his  way  thither 
as  often  as  circumstances  would  permit,  and  that  each 
would  write  daily.  For  the  present  they  were  to 
meet  every  other  day  in  the  summer-house  at  the 
same  hour. 

Mary  brought  a  lunch  at  seven  and  they  tasted  it 
together,  but  neither  was  hungry  for  material  food. 
Alma  grew  more  and  more  charming  as  she  regained 
her  spirits,  and  they  built  a  splendid  future  out  of 
the  very  limited  materials  at  hand  in  the  course  of 
the  evening.  Not  once  did  the  fair  girl  refuse  or 
even  question  his  right  to  all  the  kisses  he  wanted, 


CUFF  NELSON'S  PROTEST.  22\ 

which  were  numerous.  And  when  he  reflected  after- 
ward Gerald  thought  he  had  behaved  very  well 
indeed,  considering  his  temptations. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CUFF  NELSON'S  PROTEST. 

Alvah  Adams  had  never  tried  to  influenc*  ni» 
daughter  in  anything  until  there  came  up  this  mat- 
ter of  Gerald.  She  had  been  as  free  to  follow  her 
inclination  in  everything  as  though  she  were  of  full 
age,  and  he  had  always  congratulated  himself  that 
there  was  nothing  in  which  they  seemed  likely  to 
differ.  In  this  case,  however,  he  had  determined  to 
use  all  of  his  efforts  to  put  a  stop  to  the  intimacy  of 
the  young  couple,  believing  that  their  further  friend- 
ship could  only  result  in  subsequent  pain  and  mortifi- 
cation to  Alma.  What  might  have  happened  had  the 
girl  set  herself  in  opposition  to  his  wishes,  in  an 
open  way,  it  is  difficult  to  say.  He  would  have  /ound 
it  hard  to  use  severe  measures,  and  she  might  have 
been  the  victor.  But  as  time  passed  on  and  she 
appeared  to  recover  rapidly  from  the  shock  which 
he  had  been  compelled  to  give  her,  Mr.  Adams  con- 
gratulated himself  that  he  had  pursued  the  right 
course,  and  that  the  love  of  the  young  man  had  not 
been  so  deeply  grounded  in  his  child's  heart  as  he 
bad  feared. 

In  the  course  of  a  fortnight  she  went  about  her 
duties  with  very  nearly  the  appearance  of  the  former 


222  THE   GABSTOJN    BIG  AM  T. 

time.  She  wore  a  subdued  air  that  was  new  to  her, 
but  there  was  nothing  to  show  that  she  suffered  from 
grief.  It  was  clear  to  her  father,  and  to  her  mothet 
as  well,  that  the  ill  effects  were  passing  rapid  sy 
away. 

Mrs.  Adams  had  long  been  in  delicate  health,  and 
it  happened  at  this  season  that  she  was  taken  with  a 
sudden  failing,  which  alarmed  her  husband  seriously. 
The  physician  who  attended  her  recommended  a 
trip  to  the  seashore,  and  Adams  se.  about  arranging 
to  carry  out  his  recommendations.  Alma's  school 
term  would  have  begun  soon,  but  the  girl  settled 
that  matter  by  saying  that  she  had  had  enough  of 
study  for  the  present.  She  would  much  rather,  she 
said,  remain  and  attend  to  the  household  affairs, 
which  would  enable  her  mother  to  prolong  her  visit 
East  as  much  as  she  wished.  Her  parents  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  best  to  allow  her 
to  make  her  choice.  She  had  already  a  fair  educa- 
tion, and  if  she  was  content  to  remain  at  home,  it 
was  undoubtedly  better  that  she  should  do  so. 

Gerald  had  been  giving  some  uneasiness  to  his 
father  of  late  by  the  condition  of  his  health.  He  had 
become  paler  than  usual,  and  his  appetite  was  vari- 
able. He  appeared  to  care  for  nothing,  but  would 
lie  for  hours  at  a  time  in  a  hammock,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy,  sometimes  having  to  be  called  sev- 
eral times  before  he  heard  the  person  who  accosted 
him.  Garston  ascribed  this  state  of  affairs  to  his 
son's  fondness  for  Alma,  but  assured  himself  that  it 
would  soon  pass  off,  and  that  he  would  be  all  the 
better  when  the  reaction  came.  He  heard  from  the 
Colonel  that  Gerald-  made  his  appearance  regularly 
at  his  residence  and  often  remained  to  supper,  spend- 


CUFF  NELSON'S  PEOTMT.  2*3 

ing  the  evening  in  the  sole  company  of  Edith.  The 
Colonel  had  also  noticed  that  Gerald  did  not  seem 
in  his  usual  health,  but  ascribed  it  to  physical 
causes. 

"It  is  nothing  lasting,"  he  said.  "A  wedding 
journey  would  cure  him.  Young  men  are  often 
struck  that  way." 

"I  wish  he  would  take  the  wedding  journey," 
replied  John,  with  a  clouded  brow.  "  I  have  talked 
with  him,  and  he  says  he  cannot  think  of  marrying 
until  he  can  support  his  wife  and  himself.  He  is 
proud  and  stubborn,  too,  in  his  quiet  way.  The 
only  method  is  to  let  him  alone  till  he  comes  to  his 
senses." 

"It  is  nearly  the  time  he  has  set  to  return  to 
Chicago,  is  it  not  ?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"Yes,  but  the  firm  he  is  reading  with  are  willing 
to  give  him  all  the  vacation  he  needs.  I  don't  want 
him  to  hurry.  When  does  Edith  go  ?" 

"  She  concluded  not  to  go  at  all,"  was  the  reply. 
**  She  says  it  would  be  lonesome  there  without  Alma, 
and  I  have  let  her  do  as  she  pleased.  She'll  keep 
on  with  her  music  at  home  and  have  a  French 
teacher  come  to  the  house." 

Cliff  Nelson  came  to  Jefferson  for  a  short  visit  and 
was  more  shocked  at  the  condition  in  which  he 
found  Gerald  than  any  of  the  rest,  not  having  seen 
him  since  they  parted  in  the  early  summer,  when 
the  bloom  of  health  and  the  flush  of  happiness  was  on 
his  cheek. 

"  Look  here,  old  boy,"  was  his  first  greeting,  "  you 
are  looking  like  the  devil  !  " 

"  I'm  not  quite  as  well  as  I  have  been,"  Gerald 
admitted,  "but  it  will  be  all  right  in  a  little  tims." 


Jm  TOM  6 ARSTOW  BIOAMT. 

•*  All  right  r  echoed  Cliff.  "All  wrong,  you  mean  J 
Why,  there'll  be  a  funeral  at  your  house  in  another 
month  if  you  don't  mend.  What  is  it?  Something 
about  our  two  friends,  eh  ?  I  suspected  as  much. 
Tell  me.  Have  you  found  which  of  them  it  is  ?" 

Gerald  looked  at  the  handsome  face  of  his  com- 
panion and  groaned. 

"  There  is  no  change,  Cliff,"  he  answered.  "  They 
make  me  the  happiest  and  the  most  miserable  fellow 
in  the  world,  as  they  used.  It  has  steadily  grown 
worse  to  bear,  and  I  have  had  no  one  to  confide  in. 
It  does  me  good  to  see  you,  for  you  at  least  under- 
stand my  trouble." 

Little  by  little  Nelson  got  out  of  him  the  situation 
of  affairs,  as  they  drove  to  Mr.  Garston's  house,  and 
when  they  were  comfortably  seated  on  the  veranda 
they  continued  the  conversation  for  a  longtime. 

"  The  fathers  of  both  of  them  became  unbearable," 
said  Gerald.  "They  could  not  conceal  their  abso* 
lute  certainty  that  I  was  in  each  case  destined  for 
the  position  of  their  son-in-law.  They  came  with 
offers  of  financial  assistance,  both  to  myself  and 
father,  till  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
I  had  rather  have  become  a  tramp  and  begged  my 
dinners  on  the  road  than  have  endured  it  another 
month.  Finally  Staples  came  to  the  auction,  as  I 
have  told  you,  and  bought  the  place,  saving  us  from 
being  turned  into  the  street ;  and  that  gave  him,  as 
he  considered,  a  first  mortgage,  not  only  on  the  farm, 
but  on  me.  Adams  thereupon  got  angry  and  ceased 
to  bow  when  we  met,  so  I  was  relieved  of  that  nui- 
sance, at  least,  but  the  assurance  of  the  other  one 
has  been  doubled  to  make  up  for  it.  Between  thew 
they  were  killing  me.  Now  the  ^r-ssure  of  the  on« 


OLCTT  mUKnr's  FBOTZST.  92ft 

remaining  Is  about  as  great  as  their  combined  weight 

yas  before." 

Nelson  heard  this  with  gravity. 

41 1  did  not  know  that  your  father  was  in  any  trou- 
)/e  of  this  sort,"  he  said.  "  If  I  had  I  should  have 
offered  to  aid  you  myself.  I  could  have  done  it  just 
as  well  as  not." 

"That  would,  if  possible,  have  been  worse  than 
the  present  muddle,"  said  Gerald.  "  Turn  which 
way  I  could  there  was  nothing  but  obligation  to 
some  one,  or  what  is  popularly  called  ruin.  I  delib- 
erately chose  the  latter,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned. 
I  never  asked  the  Colonel  to  come  over  and  buy  the 
place,  nor  did  any  one  else.  He  heard  of  the  auction 
and  drove  there  of  his  own  notion." 

"  It  was  very  noble  of  him,  I  think,"  mused  Clif- 
ford, soberly.  "  Though,  considering  you  in  the  light 
of  a  future  son-in-law,  it  was  a  perfectly  natural 
thing." 

"But  he  has  no  business  to  consider  me  as  any- 
Jhing  of  the  kind  !  "  Gerald  broke  out,  hotly. 

Nelson  caught  eagerly  at  the  straw  of  comfort. 

"  Then  you  no  longer  consider  yourself  a  probable 
candidate  for  the  hand  of  the  fair  Miss  Edith?" 

Gerald  drew  a  breath  of  despair.    . 

"I  don't  know.  If  they  would  all  let  me  alone  for 
twenty-four  hours  I  might  tell  what  I  intend  and 
what  I  don't." 

"  It  is  a  simple  question,  after  all,"  said  Nelson, 
gravely.  "Do  you  love  her?" 

"No  doubt  of  it." 

"  Then  that  releases  Alma,"  replied  the  other,  witk 
a  strange  look. 

"  Does  it  ?    I  don't  see  it  that  way.    Alma  likes  me 


826  THI    GAKSTOS   BIOAMT. 

1  like  her.  It  is  not  so  easy  as  you  think  to  part 
us." 

Nelson  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room. 

"  See  here,  Gerald,"  he  said,  presently.  "  I  think  a 
great  deal  of  you,  but  this  thing  is  getting  where 
there  must  be  something  done  to  bring  you  to  rea- 
son. After  what  you  have  told  me  it  is  clear  that 
you  are  going  to  marry  Miss  Staples.  All  the  logic 
of  events  points  in  that  direction.  It  forms  a  solu- 
tion of  all  your  troubles.  That  being  the  case  it  is 
nothing  less  than  wicked  for  you  to  lead  Miss  Adams 
to  think  otherwise.  If  she  cares  for  you  it  is  all  the 
more  reason  why  she  should  know  the  truth  as  early 
as  possible." 

"  Know  -what  truth  ? "  exclaimed  Gerald.  "  That  I 
can  hardly  live  out  of  her  sight?  That  is  the  only 
truth  in  connection  with  her  that  I  am  fully  persuad- 
ed of.  Oh,  Cliff,  I  thought  you  would  do  something 
to  aid  me,  and  you  only  make  it  worse  and  worse  ! " 

His  companion  grew  dark  about  the  eyes.  He 
was  a  good-natured  fellow,  but  he  was  on  the  point 
of  an  explosion  at  that  moment. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  me,  Cliff  ?"  cried  Gerald, 
wildly,  rising  and  pressing  his  hands  to  his  temples. 
"  Here  are  these  two  girls,  either  of  them  fit  consort 
for  an  angel.  Both  have  a  fondness  for  me  which  is 
as  unaccountable  as  it  is  undeniable.  And  what 
does  such  love — such  undeserved  affection — do  to 
me?  Beautiful,  pure  and  good  as  they  are,  they 
have  already  made  me  a  fool,  and  they  will  yet  make 
me  a  villain  !  " 

The  anger  that  had  been  rising  in  Nelson's  brain 
turned  to  sympathy  as  he  saw  the  earnestness  of  his 
friend 


227 

"You  are  insane  !  "  he  answered.  "  No  man  in  his 
senses  would  talk  like  this." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Gerald.  "  I  am  insane — in  one 
way — and  yet  no  body  of  physicians  would  order  me 
placed  in  confinement.  I  am  bad  enough,  and  yet  I 
have  been  trying  for  the  past  month  to  give  up  one 
cf  these  girls — trying  as  man  never  tried  before.  I 
have  met  her  three  or  four  times  a  week,  against  the 
wishes  of  her  father  and  the  commands  of  mine — 
met  her  surreptitiously,  passed  hours  with  her — 
and  every  moment  the  thought  has  been  uppermost* 
'Can  I  give  her  up?'  The  more  I  have  put  that 
question  to  myself  the  less  able  have  I  been  to  an- 
swer it.  Then  I  have  gone  to  see  the  other  one, 
whom  I  can  meet  with  the  full  approval  of  all  our 
friends,  and  have  asked  myself  the  same  thing  con. 
cerning  her,  with  the  same  result." 

"  You — you  have  met  Miss  Adams — alone  ?"  stam- 
mered Nelson,  with  an  aspect  of  sternness. 

"  Not  exactly.  A  trusted  maid  of  hers  has  always 
been  within  call." 

"  Of  all  the  uncertain  things  which  girls  trust 
with  their  secrets,"  said  Clifford,  earnestly,  "a  maid 
is  the  worst.  To-day  she  may  be  the  soul  of  devo- 
tion— to-morrow  something  happens  to  make  her 
reveal  all  that  she  knows  and  insinuate  more.  Ger- 
ald, you  are  my  friend,  but  this  must  stop.  I  put  it 
plainly.  It  must  stop." 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  dictated  to  by  a  self-con« 
ftituted  oracle,  and  Gerald  felt  his  pride  aroused. 

"  You  are  very  plain,  I  must  say,"  he  replied, 
coldly. 

"  I  ,am,"  said  Nelson.  "  I  will  be  plainer  yet  that 
there  be  no  possibility  of  a  misunderstanding  I 


t28  THE    GAROTON   BIOAMT. 

esteem  Miss  Adams  too  highly  to  permit  you  to  go  o? 
injuring  her  as  you  are  doing." 

Gerald  listened  with  increasing  astonishment. 

"Injure  her  !     Injure  Alma  !"  he  repeated. 

"Yes.  Every  time  you  meet  her  unknown  to  her 
parents,  with  only  her  maid  to  protect  her  good 
name,  you  injure  her.  And  this  is  not  the  way  to 
break  with  her,  as  you  profess  to  think.  The  only 
way  to  do  that  is  to  write  her  a  frank,  honest  letter, 
saying  that  your  engagement  to  another  makes  it 
proper  that  you  should  cease  attentions  which  might 
be  misconstrued.  This  is  the  advice  I  give  you. 
Follow  it  or  not,  as  you  will.  Now,  another  thing. 
I  cannot  longer  stay  here  as  your  guest.  I  shall  go 
at  once  to  the  village  hotel  and  remain  there  while 
I  am  in  Jefferson." 

Gerald  started  up  and  caught  his  friend  by  the 
sleeve. 

"Come,  Cliff,  that  is  going  too  far,"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  have  done  nothing  against  you.  You  act  as 
though  we  had  had  a  quarrel.  You  talk  about  my 
being  insane — I  think  it  is  you  who  are  best  open  to 
that  charge." 

"  No,"  said  Nelson.  "  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you, 
but  there  is  danger  of  one,  and  if  it  comes  it  is 
better  that  I  am  not  under  your  roof  when  the  blow 
falls.  You  are  playing  double  with  these  girls.  I 
have  no  right  to  sit  an  idle  spectator  of  your  amuse- 
ment. I  shall  go  to  the  hotel.  We  have  not  fallen 
out  and  if  we  ever  do  it  will  be  from  no  fault  of 
mine.  But  one  thing  is  certain,  there  must  be  a 
change  in  your  conduct,  and  that  right  speedily. 
Gerald,"  he  continued,  assuming  the  tone  of  a 
pleading  friend,  "  it  is  for  your  own  sake,  as  wall  u 


LJ1TB   A   HAN   IN   IJQTJOK.  229 

mine,  as  well  as  theirs,  that  I  say  this.  You  are  old 

enough    to     understand    that    Results  flow    from 
Causes." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

LIKE    A   MAN   IN   LIQUOR. 

Gerald  did  not  try  longer  to  dissuade  his  friend 
from  the  step  he  had  resolved  upon.  In  the  first 
place  he  felt  that  it  would  be  useless,  and  in  the 
second  he  was  not  sure  that  it  would  not  be  better 
for  him  that  such  a  jealous  spy  upon  his  every 
movement  was  further  away.  So  Nelson  went  to 
the  hotel  and  Gerald  thought  for  a  long  time  of 
what  he  had  said  to  him.  Could  he  give  Alma  up  ? 
He  did  not  share  his  friend's  idea  about  the  letter  he 
ought  to  write.  That  seemed  brutal,  considering  all 
that  had  passed.  Neither  had  he  any  fear  of  the 
faithfulness  of  Mary  Carson.  There  had  been  tat- 
tling servants  in  the  history  of  love,  but  she  was  not 
of  that  mould.  The  summer-house  was  secluded. 
No  one  walked  in  the  wood  at  night  who  would  be 
likely  to  see  him  enter  or  leave  it.  As  for  Alma,  it 
was  her  father's  property,  and  she  had  a  right  to  go 
and  come  when  she  pleased,  without  question.  He 
did  not  mean  to  do  her  reputation  harm,  certainly 
not  Had  he  not  told  her  that  she  was  the  only 
woman  in  the  world  for  whom  he  cared  ? 

And  yet,  he  had  said  no  less  to  Edith  ! 

What  a  tangled  web  he  had  been  wearing,  and 


230  THE    GARSTON   BIGAMY. 

how  hopeless  seemed  the  task  of  unwinding  its 
meshes  from  the  limbs  which  it  enfolded  ! 

The  more  he  thought  of  it,  however,  the  surer  he 
became  that  he  ought  to  make  a  brave  effort  to  give 
Alma  up.  And  as  a  preliminary  to  that  end  he 
Wrote  a  note  and  left  it  under  the  flat  stone,  asking 
her  to  meet  him  that  evening,  instead  of  the  next,  as 
had  been  arranged. 

Alma  received  the  note  with  joy,  when  Mary 
brought  it  to  her.  Her  parents  had  that  day  de- 
parted for  the  East,  and  she  had  been  afflicted  with 
lonesomeness  ever  since  the  train  had  steamed  out 
of  the  depot  with  them  on  board.  She  met  Gerald 
at  the  hour  appointed,  with  more  than  her  usual 
tenderness,  and  as  he  touched  her  ripe  lips  he  knew 
that  all  the  courage  with  which  he  had  thought  him- 
self endowed  had  taken  to  itself  wings  and  flown 
away. 

She  talked  to  him  first  of  the  departure  of  her 
parents,  who  were  not  expected  to  come  back  for  a 
month  or  more.  Then  she  expressed  the  hope  that 
he  would  not  feel  obliged  to  go  to  Chicago  until 
near  the  time  they  would  return,  as  she  could  now 
meet  him  with  the  utmost  freedom.  Edith  came  to 
see  her  occasionally,  but  there  was  not  the  old  cor- 
diality, after  all. 

And  Gerald  told  her  that  he  was  not  going  just 
yet,  at  any  rate.  He  mentioned  that  Cliff  Nelson 
had  come  to  town  and  was  staying  at  the  hotel,  say- 
ing that  it  was  better  to  have  him  there  than  at  his 
house,  where  he  would  know  his  every  movement, 
and  possibly  become  suspicious.  He  said  that  his 
father  had  also  become  quite  a  Cerberus,  and  that 
ha  had  pretended  to  retire  to  his  room  at  eight,  MI 


UXB  A  MA*   Iff   LIQUO*.  931 

account  of  Indisposition.  Without  this  deception  he 
should  find  it  hard  to  get  these  evenings  to  himself. 

"You  ought  to  see  Cliff,"  he  said.  "  He  is  hand- 
somer than  ever.  You  know  he  was  always  fond  of 
you,  Alma,  and  I  don't  think  he  has  given  up  hope 
yet/' 

She  blushed  and  replied  that  he  must  not  talk 
nonsense. 

a  Mr.  Nelson  never  said  a  word  to  me  except  the 
ordinary  courtesies,"  she  added.  "I  think  you  are 
too  much  inclined  to  draw  on  your  imagination." 

Gerald  liked  to  see  the  roses  come  into  her  cheeks, 
which  were  still  a  little  affected  by  the  paleness  that 
had  come  to  her  at  the  time  of  her  illness. 

41  Oh,"  he  said,  "  Cliff  is  a  thorough  gentleman. 
There  isn't  a  mean  streak  in  him.  If  you  were  my 
sister,  there  isn't  a  man  on  earth  that  I  would  so 
soon  give  you  to.  But,  as  it  is,  I  don't  see  how  I  can 
oblige  him." 

This  made  her  laugh,  and  the  conversation  took 
on  a  lighter  tone.  She  told  him,  among  other  things, 
that  they  were  entirely  alone  in  the  summer-house 
that  evening.  Mary  had  wanted  very  much  to  go  to  a 
friend's,  where  she  should  remain  till  eleven  o'clock, 
and  Alma  had  given  her  permission.  After  all,  it 
was  just  the  same.  Nobody  would  know  she  was 
absent,  and  nobody  would  guess,  at  any  rate 
that  Gerald  was  there. 

Oh,  yes,  it  was  quite  the  same. 

They  told  each  other  this  several  times,  but  one  of 
them  knew  different.  From  the  moment  that  they 
heard  that  Mary  had  gone  and  that  there  was  no 
one  on  the  premises,  but  himself  and  Alma,  there 
Was  a  tornado  in  the  heart  of  Gerald  Garston.  He 


§31  THE    GARSTOtf   BIGAMT. 

could  not  sit  still.  He  walked  about  the  rooms,  look- 
ing at  the  pictures  and  furnishings.  When  he  talked 
his  utterance  was  not  as  distinct  as  usual. 

M  My  head  aches,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  hei  anx- 
ious queries. 

She  made  him  lie  down,  and  brought  camphor, 
with  which  she  bathed  it.  The  ache  did  not  disap- 
pear, however.  He  could  not  stay  there,  but  got  up 
and  walked  again.  She  accompanied  him,  growing 
paler  as  she  saw  his  agitation.  She  was  alarmed, 
but  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and  thus  the  strange 
actions  went  on  for  an  hour  or  more,  until  she  was 
nearly  exhausted  with  her  emotions. 

"  Alma,  darling,"  he  said,  suddenly,  stopping  and 
facing  her,  "would  it  not  have  been  better  ;f  you 
had  married  me  when  I  asked  you  ?  Tell  me,  from 
your  heart,  do  you  not  wish  at  this  moment  that  I 
were  your  husband  ?" 

"If — if — ,"  she  began.  M  If  you  insist  upon  it  as 
necessary  to  your  happiness,  I  will  marry  you  to- 
morrow.'* 

She  thought  this  would  extort  a  cry  of  pleasure 
from  him,  but  it  did  not. 

"  To-morrow  /"  he  exclaimed,  in  so  loud  a  voice 
that  she  feared  lest  it  should  pass  the  walls  of  the 
building  and  the  limits  of  the  enclosure.  *'  To* 
morrow  I  There  is  no  to-morrow  !  There  is  nothing 
in  this  world  but  to-day  !  To-morrow  is  a  milHon 
centuries  off!  How  can  you  talk  to  me  of 
to-morrow  I " 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  in  spite  of  all  that 
she  could  do  to  repress  them,  but  he  saw  them  not 

He  was  blind. 

"Almat" 


-ITS  FOB  EDITH!"  HE  MUSED.  233 

She  started  to  go  nearer  to  him,  but  he  moved 

backward  as  she  approached. 

"  Are  you  afraid  to  remain  here  alone  till  Mary 
Comes  ?  I  think  I  shall  have  to  leave  you.1' 

The  tears  that  had  gathered  fell  in  a  shower. 

He  did  not  see  them. 

"  No,"  she  answered.     "  I  am  not  afraid." 

"Good-night,  then." 

He1  walked  to  the  door  like  a  man  who  has  been 
drinking  liquor,  and  opened  it.  Then  he  rolled  out 
of  the  gate,  and  went  through  the  wood,  seeking  not 
for  travelled  ways. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

*  IT'S  FOR  EDITH  !  "   HE  MUSED. 

There  was  something  very  noble  in  the  position 
which  young  Nelson  occupied.  Ever  since  he  had 
krown  Edith  he  had  admired  her,  and  now  that  ad- 
miration had  grown  into  the  deepest  love.  He  had 
no  Msters,  and  she  was  the  only  girl  for  whom  he  had 
ever  felt  a  strong  attachment.  Toward  Alma  he 
had  a  feeling  that  he  could  not  put  into  words,  that 
made  him  assume  a  sort  of  guardianship  over  her 
when  she  seemed  menaced  by  danger.  But  that 
was  not  love.  Edith  was  the  one  who  had  his  heart 
in  thralL  Yet  there  had  been  little  to  give  him  hope 
that  he  would  ever  have  the  opportunity  to  tell  her 
of  his  sentiments. 

So  long  as  there  was  anything  between  her  and 


S34  THE    GARSTOST   BIGAMT. 

Gerald,  he  was  barred  out  by  the  commonest  rules 
of  honor.  And  more  than  that,  he  had  observed  her 
too  closely  not  to  know  that,  while  Gerald  was  in 
the  way,  the  suit  of  no  other  man  on  earth  would 
have  the  least  effect  upon  her. 

There  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  call  upon 
her — indeed  she  would  have  thought  it  strange  if  he 
had  not,  knowing  that  he  was  in  town — and  he  took 
an  early  opportunity  of  visiting  the  Staples  man- 
sion. She  received  him  kindly,  but  he  saw  at  a 
glance  that  there  was  trouble  in  her  face.  He 
guessed  the  truth — that  Gerald  was  not  as  regular 
in  his  calls  as  she  thought  he  should  be.  One  of 
the  first  things  brought  out  in  their  conversation 
was  the  fact  that  he  was  living  at  the  hotel,  which 
he  ascribed  to  greater  convenience.  She  asked  him, 
with  an  effort,  if  he  had  seen  Gerald,  and  he  said 
that  he  had,  once  or  twice,  but  not  for  long  inter- 
views. 

"And  you  have  called  on  Alma,  of  course  ?"  she 
said. 

"  No.     I  mean  to  do  so  soon,  however." 

"  I  know  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Edith. 
M I  have  sometimes  thought,"  she  added,  archly,  "  that 
she  had  an  especially  warm  side  for  you." 

He  wondered  how  she  could  be  so  blind. 

"You  are  surely  mistaken,"  he  answered.  Then 
he  continued,  unable  to  resist  the  inclination,  "  I 
suspect,  on  the  contrary,  that  she  has  a  decided 
preference  for  another  ?  " 

She  regarded  him  vacantly. 

"Another?  No,  there  can  be  none.  We  are  so 
intimate  that  if  there  were  she  would  have  told 


FOB  EDITH!"  HE  inrsB».  29* 

How  thoroughly  both  of  these  girls  believed  in 
their  hold  on  Gerald. 

44  It  matters  not,"  said  Clifford,  more  soberly  than 
he  was  wont  to  speak.  "  I  have  set  my  affections 
elsewhere." 

The  natural  curiosity  of  the  feminine  mind  over- 
powered Edith. 

**  Ah  !"  she  said.  "  Is  it  a  secret,  or  can  you  give 
me  her  name  ? " 

"I  cannot,  now.  There  may  be  a  time  when  I 
can,"  said  he,  with  great  deliberation.  "  But  I  assure 
you  that  it  will  be  either  her  or  no  one." 

"You  imply  that  there  is  doubt  of  your  happi- 
ness," said  Edith,  sweetly.  "  I  hope  sincerely  that 
the  difficulties,  whatever  they  are,  will  be  removed. 
You  deserve  one  of  the  best  girls  in  the  world." 

He  took  up  her  hand  and  kissed  it  with  the  rever- 
ence of  a  devotee. 

"  You  would  aid  me,  if  you  could  ?"  he  asked. 

"You  may  be  sure  of  that,"  she  answered, 
warmly. 

He  was  afraid  he  should  say  too  much,  and  he 
soon  after  took  his  departure. 

From  Edith's  house  he  went  to  that  of  Alma.  It 
was  not  yet  late,  and  he  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with 
her  too.  The  servant  who  answered  his  ring  told 
him  that  her  young  mistress  had  gone  out  to  spend 
the  evening,  and  she  did  not  know  at  what  hour  she 
would  return.  Not  liking  to  go  to  his  hotel  so 
early,  Nelson  took  a  long  stroll  up  the  road,  ending 
by  going  into  *.e  woods  and  lying  down  under  a 
tall  tree,  to  dream  alone.  He  had  lain  there  perhaps 
an  hour  when  he  heard  a  quick  step  approaching; 


100  rax  QABOTOW  Biouwr. 

and  saw  Gerald  walking  at  a  strange  and  reckless 
gait  through  the  underbrush. 

So  peculiar  was  his  friend's  action,  that  Nelson's 
first  thought  was  that  he  saw  a  somnambulist.  Ger- 
fild  turned  aside  for  the  larger  trees  and  bushes,  but 
over  the  smaller  ones  he  stalked  like  a  wild  animal, 
who  had  no  idea  of  roads  or  clear  spaces.  Nelson 
started  to  his  feet  and  called  his  name  three  times 
before  he  received  any  intimation  that  his  words 
had  reached  the  ears  for  which  they  were  intended. 
Then  Gerald  stopped  like  one  startled,  looked 
around  and  replied,  in  a  hoarse  voice  : 

-Who's  there?" 

"It is  I." 

Nelson  stepped  out  of  his  concealment  and  saw 
that  the  face  of  his  friend  was  ghastly.  His  eyes 
were  streaked  with  red,  and  his  entire  appearance 
was  the  reverse  of  natural. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  "  asked  Gerald,  sus- 
piciously. 

44 1  have  been  lying  here  under  this  tree  for  an 
hour  or  more." 

Gerald's  eyes  cleared  a  little  as  he  spoke  next 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  mine,  aren't  you  ?" 

"  I  hope  lam." 
;  Have  you  a  pistol  ?" 

There  was  such  a  calm,  cold-blooded  tone  in  this 
Inquiry  that  Nelson  shuddered. 

"I  have  not  What  could  I  do  with  one?"  he 
teplied. 

"You  could  do  me  a  favor.  You  could  place  m« 
against  that  tree  and  shoot  me  dead." 

Clifford  was  thoroughly  shocked. 

*  What  has  happened  ? "  he  asked.    "  Let  me  walk 


FOB  BDITH!"  HE  MTOBD.  33T 

home  with  you.  You  want  to  get  to  bed  and  rest 
You  need  medicine." 

The  soothing  voice  had  a  certain  effect,  and  Gerald 
suffered  himself  to  be  led  in  the  direction  indicated. 
But  he  had  no  notion  of  telling  this  man  what  ailed 
him. 

"  How  came  you  out  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  is  a 
good  way  from  the  hotel." 

"  I  took  the  liberty  of  calling  upon  your  affianced," 
replied  Nelson,  soberly.  "  We  talked  of  nothing  but 
you,  however,  so  you  need  have  no  jealousy." 

Gerald  stared  at  him  a  moment  before  he  compre- 
hended. 

"Do  you  mean  Edith  ?M 

M I  said  *  your  affianced.'  Whom  else  could  I  have 
meant  ?  Have  you  several  of  them  ? " 

A  shiver  passed  over  the  form  of  the  other  man. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  have  one,"  he  said. 
"There  was  never  a  formal  engagement  between 
Edith  and  me.  If  there  were  I  should  feel  it  my 
duty  to  ask  a  release  ;  for  to  night,  if  never  before,  I 
know  I  cannot  marry  her." 

Nelson  felt  greatly  agitated  by  this  statement.  He 
knew  not  what  to  think. 

"  When  you  have  rested,  you  will  be  able  to  talk 
more  coherently,"  he  said.  "  She  fully  understands 
that  you  and  she  are  engaged.  And  let  me  tell  you 
that  you  trifle  with  the  heart  of  a  superior  girl  when 
you  play  at  fast  and  loose  with  Miss  Staples." 

Gerald  admitted  by  a  nod  that  he  had  no  desire 
to  controvert  this  statement. 

"I  am  not  insane,  as  you  seem,  perhaps  not  unrea- 
sonably, to  think,"  he  answered.  "  I  may  have  been 
for  a  moment  out  of  my  mind,  but  now  I  am  quite 


233  THE    QJLRSTON    BIGAMT. 

sober  and  sensible.  For  three  years  I  have  been  try. 
ing  to  ascertain  which  of  these  girls  I  most  cared  for. 
At  last  I  have  discovered.  There  is  one  of  them 
without  whom  life  would  be  a  miserable  blank  to 
me.  And  Cliff,  it  is  not  Edith." 

Nelson  stopped  stock-still  in  the  road.  He  had 
anticipated  he  knew  not  what,  but  never  this. 

"You  mean,"  he  said,  "that  you  love  Miss  Adamsv 
_fterall?" 

"  Beyond  a  doubt.  It  is  clear  to  me  now  as  the 
sun  at  noon.  As  soon  as  I  can  I  shall  try  to  commu- 
nicate to  Edith  the  fact  that  there  can  be  nothing 
more  between  us." 

Clifford  did  not  mean  to  introduce  himself  into 
the  matter  if  he  could  help  it,  and  he  thought  it  his 
duty  to  say  something  more. 

"  It  will  be  a  blow  to  her,"  he  said.  "  She  is  a  gin 
— I  might  almost  say  woman — of  strong  affections. 
They  are  all  centred  on  you.  There  has  been  noth. 
ing  to  prepare  her  for  this." 

"Don't,  Cliff!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is  not  an  easy 
thing,  and  you  have  no  right  to  make  it  harder. 
While,  as  I  tell  you,  my  eyes  have  been  opened  at  last 
to  where  my  love  really  lies,  I  have  a  regard  for 
Edith  which  surpasses  that  which  other  men  feel  for 
their  favorite  sisters.  I  would  do  anything  in  the 
world  to  spare  her  pain.  She  is  very,  very  dear  to 
me.  The  knowledge  that  I  must  cause  her  suffering 
is  terrible  to  me,  but  how  can  I  escape  ?  Would  that 
our  friendly  relations  could  have  gone  on  forever ! 
But  since  custom  compels  me  to  discard  the  one 
when  I  take  the  other,  it  must  be  she  who  is  left. 
Edith  I  like  as  well  as  ever — but  Alma  !  There  ig 


Mn*8  FOR  EDITH  I"  HB  MUSED.  239 

«o  language  to  express  my  adoration — my  complete 
worship  of  that  girl ! " 

Nelson  heard  him  wonderingly. 

"The  Colonel  will  be  much  disappointed,"  mused 
he. 

"  By  God,"  cried  Gerald,  "  whatever  they  do,  they 
shall  not  buy  and  sell  me  !  There  is  enough  of  man- 
liness left  in  me  for  that,  at  any  rate  !  I  shall  have 
to  give  up  everything  for  Alma,  and  I  am  willing  to 
do  it.  My  father  will  never  forgive  me  if  I  marry  the 
daughter  of  the  man  he  considers  his  worst  enemy, 
and  no  one  can  reason  with  him.  Adams  will  make 
an  awful  row,  perhaps  disinherit  his  child,  and  re- 
fuse to  speak  to  her  again.  Staples  will  feel  hurt, 
Edith  will  call  me  a  heartless  wretch,  when  I  have 
only  tried  to  save  her  from  the  worst  fate  imagina- 
ble, and  you — the  last  one  left — will  cast  me  over. 
Everything  will  have  to  go,  and  only  Alma  will  be 
Jeft  me.  Only  Alma  !  I  would  rather  live  with  her 
on  a  desert  island  than  with  any  other  girl  in  the 
midst  of  friends  and  plenty  !" 

Nelson  felt  that  Gerald  was  fully  in  earnest,  but 
it  was  all  so  strange. 

"How  did  this  knowledge  come  so  suddenly  ?"  he 
asked.  "  It  was  but  yesterday  that  you  could  not 
come  to  any  decision  between  them,  and  that  you 
leaned,  if  at  all,  to  the  other  side." 

Gerald  paused,  and  turned  his  face  toward  the 
moon,  which  shone  upon  and  illumined  it. 

"  It  came  to  me  as  the  Truth  came  to  Saul  on  the 
road  to  Damascus !  I  have  been  with  her  to- 
night !" 

"  /ou  left  early,"  said  Clifford,  cynically.  "  Your 
at  the  moment  when  I  accosted  you, 


Mf  TBB  OABffKW  BK»AMY. 

were  not  of  the  kind  one  ought  to  expect  in  a  happy 
lover." 

Gerald  had  for  the  time  forgotten  the  events 
which  sent  him  roving  wildly  through  the  wood, 
and  at  the  recollection  of  them  his  countenance  grew 
sober. 

"That — that  was  something  else,"  he  stammered. 

They  were  near  his  father's  gate  now,  and  he 
walked  slowly.  As  he  had  professed  to  have  a  head- 
ache  and  had  retired  early,  he  did  not  desire  that 
his  parent  should  see  him  re-enter  the  house,  if  by 
any  chance  he  were  yet  awake. 

"  When  you  have  had  a  night's  rest,  and  tell  me 
this  again,  I  shall  know  how  thoroughly  to  believe 
you,"  said  Nelson,  as  he  turned  to  leave.  "  There 
is  something  unsettled  about  your  mind  to-night 
which  leaves  me  a  little  in  doubt." 

"Oh,  you  may  believe  it  all  now,"  responded  Ger- 
ald. "  I  shall  marry  Alma.  I  must.  I  am  not  good 
enough  for  her — understand  that,  Cliff.  It  is  a  mir- 
acle that  she  loves  me,  but  I  believe  she  does,  if  ever 
woman  loved  man.  As  to  Edith — that's  the  hard 
thing.  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  manage  that.  It 
will  give  me  sad  hours  as  well  as  her."  He  waited, 
but  could  think  of  nothing  more  to  say  on  tha* 
point.  "  I  wanted  to  learn  which  of  them  it  was, 
and  until  I  did  learn,  what  could  I  do  but  wait? 
Don't  be  hard  on  me  in  your  thoughts,  old  boy. 
My  road  is  a  straight  one  now,  and  I  should  be  a 
villain  not  to  follow  it." 

Nelson  was  thinking  of  something  else  at  that 
moment. 

"Tell  me  before  I  leave  you,"  said  he,  "why  if 


FOB  EDITH!"  HB  KTOED.  241 

was  that  you  asked  m«  to  place  you  against  a  tree 
and  shoot  you." 

Gerald  tried  to  laugh  away  the  ugly  incident. 

"  Perhaps  I  was  a  little  crazy,"  he  said.  "  I  can= 
not  tell  you  what  caused  my  aberation,  but  it  was 
nothing  serious — nothing  that  is  going  to  be  so  now. 
I  am  glad  you  did  not  take  me  at  my  word." 

Gerald  walked  slowly  up  to  his  father's  door.  It 
was  now  half-past  ten  o'clock,  and  he  was  much  sur- 
prised to  see  his  parent  sitting  at  that,  to  him, 
unheard  of  hour,  on  the  veranda. 

"So  you  did  not  go  to  bed  ?"  said  his  father,  in  a 
tone  in  which  no  special  meaning  could  be  discerned. 

"Yes,  I  did,  but  the  room  was  close,  and  I  went 
out  to  stroll.  I  think  it  has  done  me  good." 

"Whom  where  you  talking  with  just  now  ?" 

"Cliff  Nelson.     I  ran  across  him  accidentally." 

Garston  looked  at  his  son  and  thought  how  well 
he  bore  the  scrutiny. 

•'  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  few  minutes,  Gerald,"  he 
said.  "  Have  you  considered  that  matter  of  marry- 
ing before  you  go  back  to  Chicago  ?" 

The  young  man  paled  at  the  question,  though  he 
had  been  white  enough  before. 

"  I  have,"  he  answered,  "  and  as  I  told  you,  I  do  not 
see  the  object  of  haste." 

"It  ought  to  be  something  to  you  that  I  wish  it,'* 
said  the  father. 

"It  is.  I  have  tried  to  agree  with  you,  but  I  can- 
not. I  entreat  you  not  to  press  me  further.  You 
surely  wish  me  to  be  happy,  and  this  matter  I  must 
settle  for  myself." 

Without  the  least  discourtesy,  but  as  i  f  the  con* 


242  THE   GAKSTON   BIGAMY. 

versatlon  naturally  ended  at  this  point,  Gerald 
bowed  a  polite  good  night  and  entered  the  house. 

The  next  morning  Garston  met  Colonel  Staples, 
who  told  him  that  Gerald  had  not  been  to  see  Edith 
for  three  days  and  that  she  was  in  some  anxiety  in 
consequence,  though  she  was  doing  her  best  to  con- 
ceal it.  The  Colonel  also  said  that  business  would 
compel  him  to  take  a  trip  to  Europe  within  a  short 
time,  and  that,  as  he  should  be  absent  some  months, 
he  would  like  to  have  this  other  matter  settled 
before  his  departure. 

Garston  rubbed  his  hands  craftly. 

"  You  ought  to  take  the  young  couple  along,"  he 
said.  "  If  it  is  managed  right,  you  can  do  so.  Edith 
is  through  with  her  school,  and  Gerald  is  not  feel- 
ing well  enough  to  resume  his  studies  at  present. 
Say  nothing  to  anyone  till  I  tell  you  the  time  is 
right.  Then  spring  it  upon  them  suddenly,  and  you 
will  have  them  for  fellow  passengers.  After  that,  all 
will  go  easily." 

"That  would  be  delightful,"  said  the  Colonel, 
with  beaming  countenance. 

"  Can  you  start  at  short  notice  ?"  asked  John. 

:<At  an  hour's,  for  such  a  purpose." 

'Trust  me,  then,  and  be  quiet  till  I  speak." 

There  was  such  an  exhibition  of  low  cunning  in 
Garston's  face  that  the  Colonel,  by  nature  a  man  of 
the  highest  honor,  felt  a  sense  of  shame  of  having 
become  his  partner  in  so  underhanded  a  business. 
But  he  had  a  daughter  whose  happiness  depended 
on  the  arrangement  he  was  trying  to  make,  and  for 
her  sake  he  sank  his  sentiments. 

"  It's  for  Edith,"  he  mused,  as  he  went  his  way. 


NO   SLEEP   F0«    ALMA.  243 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

NO     SLEEP     FOR     ALMA. 

No  sleep  came  to  Alma's  eyes  on  that  terrible 
night  when  her  lover  left  her  at  the  summer-house. 
She  had  been  too  frightened  to  try  to  stop  him  when 
he  proposed  going,  and  yet  she  felt  a  vague  alarm  at 
what  might  happen  to  him  after  he  had  gone.  She 
knew  he  was  of  a  peculiar  disposition,  and  in  his 
excited  state  many  things  were  conceivable. 

Mary  Carson  returned  at  the  time  agreed  and 
found  her  young  mistress  with  the  traces  of  tears  on 
her  cheeks,  though  she  had  tried  her  best  to  remove 
them.  The  maid  did  not  dare  inquire  the  cause  of 
the  trouble,  but  in  her  own  mind  attributed  it  to 
nothing  more  serious  than  a  lovers'  quarrel,  which 
she  supposed  inevitable  in  all  cases  of  true  love  and 
without  permanent  effect.  On  the  following  morn- 
ing, when  Alma  did  not  rise  from  her  bed,  Mary 
grew  more  uneasy,  and  began  to  wish  she  had  had 
no  part  in  an  affair  which  seemed  destined  to  bring 
more  sorrow  than  happiness  to  the  one  she  loved 
so  well.  But,  at  noon,  she  brought  Alma  a  note 
found  in  the  wall,  and  saw  that  this  magic  force 
had  still  power  to  work  a  miracle.  Half  an  hour 
after  receiving  the  letter,  Alma  was  dressed  and 
about  the  house,  singing  softly  to  herself,  and 
apparently  more  joyous  than  ever. 

The  letter  was  written  in  Gerald's  most  tender 
and  repentant  strain.  It  plead  for  forgiveness. 


244  THE   OARSTON    BIGAMY. 

deplored  the  condition  into  which  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  drift  on  the  previous  evening,  and 
declared  that  nothing  of  the  kind  should  ever  mar 
their  future.  He  told  her  that  he  had  never 
realized  until  now  how  dearly  he  loved  her,  and 
that  his  every  effort  hereafter  should  be  to  make 
himself  worthy  of  the  only  woman  for  whom  he  cou"  i 
ever  care. 

To  do  Gerald  justice,  he  meant  every  word  of 
this — when  he  wrote  it.  He  had  passed  a  miserable 
night,  and  awoke  with  his  conscience  gnawing.  He 
dreamed  of  nothing  but  seeing  Alma  again,  and  con- 
vincing her  that  he  was  a  better  man  than  his  actions 
had  led  her  to  think.  He  was  not  without  fear  that 
she  would  take  his  conduct  seriously,  and  the  dread 
that  she  might  refuse  to  meet  him  again  without  the 
sanction  of  her  parents  troubled  him  exceedingly. 

"lean  hardly  endure  the  moments  until  you  tell 
me  I  am  forgiven,"  he  wrote.  "  If  you  are  at  the 
summer-house  this  evening,  I  shall  know  that  I  am 
to  live.  If  you  are  not,  I  shall  take  it  as  my  death- 
blow, and  in  the  morning  I  shall  leave  Jefferson, 
never  to  set  foot  in  it  again," 

Alma  told  Mary  that  she  should  spend  tne  evening 
at  the  summer-house,  and  the  kind-hearted  girl 
rejoiced  to  see  in  the  eyes  of  her  mistress  the  familiar 
smile  of  happiness  which  had  momentarily  disap- 
peared. It  was  Mary's  habit  to  take  a  book  with  her, 
as  the  hours  which  she  spent  in  the  dining-room  at 
the  cottage  were  dull  and  stupid,  unless  she  had 
something  in  the  way  of  entertainment.  The  young 
couple  in  the  parlor,  with  their  imaginable  billing 
and  cooing,  only  made  the  position  of  the  quasi- 
chaperonc  all  the  more  lonely,  for  Mary  was  a  sus 


WO  SLEEP  FOB  ALMA.  245 

girl,  and  had  known  what  It  was  to  have  an 
adorer  of  her  own.  She  usually  read  the  book  as 
long  as  she  could  keep  awake,and  then  relapsed  into 
slumber  until  the  voice  of  her  mistress  was  heard 
telling  her  that  it  was  time  for  them  to  go  home. 
On  this  occasion  she  took  the  novel  she  had  brought 
and  found  herself  absorbed  in  the  woes  of  its  heroine, 
while  Alma  watched  and  waited  anxiously  for  the 
Step  of  the  one  she  loved. 

Gerald,  who  was  expected  at  eight  o'clock,  did  not 
arrive  till  nearly  an  hour  later.  Alma  grew  impa- 
tient, fearing  everything  that  her  active  brain  could 
conceive  of.  When  he  came  at  last,  she  flew  to  him 
without  a  moment's  delay. 

"  Oh,  I  feared  something  had  happened  to  keep 
you  away  !"  she  cried,  in  a  low  voice.  **  What  was 
the  matter  ?" 

"I  could  not  escape  the  watchful  eyes  of  my 
father,"  he  answered,  with  a  trace  of  bitterness.  "  I 
pretended  illness  again,  and  went  to  my  room,  but 
he  sat  up  later  than  usual,  and  I  could  not  pass 
the  veranda.  Is  it  not  an  outrage  that  I  should  be 
Compelled  to  endure  this  sort  of  thing  ?" 

"You  must  endure  it  a  little  longer,"*  she  said, 
nestling  close  to  his  breast.  "  I  am  a  sharer  with  you 
in  the  deception,  for  I  meet  you  against  all  the  com- 
mands of  my  father.  At  first  it  made  me  feel  very 
wicked,  but  I  am  becoming  hardened.  There  will 
come  a  time  when  we  shall  look  back  on  these  meet- 
ings and  be  glad  that  we  dared  to  have  them." 

They  had  entered  so  noiselessly  that  Mary  Carson 
bad  not  heard  Gerald's  step,  and  the  future  conver- 
sation was  carried  on  in  such  low  tones  that  it  reached 
no  other  ears  than  their  own. 


246  THE    GATCSTON    BIGAMY. 

"  The  first  thing  I  want  is  your  forgiveness — "  he 
began,  but  she  stopped  him. 

"  Say  nothing  about  it,  Gerald.  Your  note  quite 
sufficiently  explains  all." 

"  But  I  must  have  made  you  suffer  horribly.  li- 
my own  feelings  were  any  criterion,  you  must  have 
had  an  awful  night.  I  do  not  know  what  was  the 
matter  with  me.  I  was  quite  out  of  my  head,  and 
really  knew  nothing  after  I  left  you  until  I  met  Cliff 
Nelson,  half  a  mile  from  here." 

She  started,  alarmed  at  the  statement. 

"  He  did  not  suspect — " 

"  No,  but  he  wondered  what  had  happened  to  affect 
me  so.  Just  to  plague  him  I  have  pretended  that  I 
did  not  know  which  I  loved  best — you  or  Edie — but 
when  we  met  last  night  I  told  him  the  truth.  I  said 
there  was  but  one  little  girl  in  the  world  for  me  and 
that  was  you.  I  didn't  mean  to  be  quite  so  con- 
fidential,  but  I  was  afraid  he  would  be  calling  on  you 
and  proposing,  and  I  didn't  like  to  take  any  risks." 

It  pleased  her  to  hear  him  talk  like  this,  for  it 
showed  that  he  rejoiced  in  the  possession  of  her  lovet 
and  was  not  willing  that  any  other  man  should 
have  an  opportunity  even  to  ask  for  it.  Gerald  was 
very  dear  to  her  that  night,  all  the  dearer  for  the 
little  episode  of  the  evening  preceding. 

"  Mary  is  with  you  this  time,  of  course  ?"  he  said, 
presently. 

She  assented,  and  indicated  the  dining-room  as  the 
present  location  of  the  person  inquired  for. 

"You  won't  let  her  go  again  ?" 

"No." 

She  shook  her  head  decidedly. 

"  She  will  not  be  likely  to  come  in,  though  ?" 


NO    SLEEP   FOR    ALMA.  247 

"Not  unless  called." 

Gerald  laughed. 

"I  don't  think  you'll  need  to  call  her,"  he  said. 
"She  has  great  faith  in  us.  I  really  believe  she 
thinks  it  a  sort  of  Christian  duty  to  help  us  to  these 
meetings." 

Alma  agreed  with  a  smile. 

"  If  she  thought  it  wrong  she  would  not  do  it,  I  am 
sure.  She  is  the  most  devoted  girl." 

Gerald  drew  the  figure  which  he  had  been  encir- 
cling with  his  arm  closer  to  his  breast. 

"  We  will  have  her  with  us — when — when  we  are 
married." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure." 

He  drank  in  the  sweet  breath  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  found  his  brain  growing  unsteady  again. 

"  When  was  it,"  he  asked,  "  that  you  first  thought 
you  loved  me  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  remember.  But  since  we 
have  met  here  my  love  has  grown  to  be  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  from  what  it  was  before." 

He  asked  her  to  explain,  but  she  could  not. 

"I  feel  now,"  she  said,  "as  if  I  could  not  live  were 
we  to  be  parted." 

"Why,  that,"  he  said,  "  is  like  thelove  of  a  wife  to 
her  husband." 

"Yes.  If  we  were  already  married,  you  could  not 
be  dearer  than  you  are." 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  we  were  !  It  is  such  a  little  thing—- 
that ceremony — and  yet  it  means  so  much  !  A  few 
words  from  a  clergyman,  and  we  could  tell  Miss 
Mary  there  to  give  up  her  post  of  watcher.  I  am  so 
tired  of  waiting  for  you  !" 


248  THE  GABSTON  BIGAMY. 

She  placed  an  arm  affectionately  about  his  neck. 

"  Why,  you  have  me  already." 

"No,"  he  answered,  with  tightening  lips,  "  I  do  not 
have  you.  We  are  here  at  a  risk  to  our  reputations. 
We  come  in  and  creep  out  like  burglars.  You  told 
me  yesterday  that  you  would  agree  to  a  secret  mar- 
riage, if  I  insisted  upon  it.  Alma,  I  think  I  must 
insist." 

She  had  hoped  that  he  would  forget  her  rash 
promise,  for  she  dreaded  above  all  things  taking  a 
step  of  that  kind,  which  seemed  cruel  to  her  parents, 
who  had  always  granted  her  every  favor  she  fcad 
asked  them. 

"  Let  us  talk  it  over  sensibly,"  she  said.  "  Of  what 
use  would  it  be  ?" 

"  It  could  stop  idle  tongues  if  it  were  discovered 
that  we  have  met  here,"  he  replied,  quickly.  "  Is 
that  nothing  to  consider?" 

"I  could  prove  that  Mary  had  always  been  with 
us,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  blush. 

There  was  a  covert  sneer  in  the  smile  with  which 
he  met  this. 

"  She  is  your  servant,  and  herself  only  a  young 
woman.  It  would  amount  to  nothing.  Are  you 
Tying  to  avoid  carrying  out  your  own  proposal  ? 
You  told  me  frankly  that  you  would  do  it  if  I 
insisted." 

She  knew  that  this  was  true  ;  and  yet  she  wanted 
to  find  some  avenue  of  escape  that  should  be,  at  the 
same  time,  satisfactory  to  him. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Gerald,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 
*'  My  father  and  mother  are  to  return  in  three  or 
four  weeks.  I  will  make  you  this  promise  and  keep 
it  faithfully.  When  they  arrive  I  will  go  to  them 


NO  SLEEP  FOB  ALMA.  249 

openly  and  tell  them  that  I  love  you — that  I  have 
promised  to  be  your  wife,  and  that  I  want  their 
blessing.  I  will  pray  them  to  grant  it,  begging  it  if 
necessary  on  my  knees,  and  I  think  they  will  give 
their  consent.  If  they  do  not — if  they  say  it  shall 
not  be,  no  matter  with  what  threats  they  couple  the 
decision,  I  will  marry  you  as  soon  after  as  you 
wish.  But  it  must  be  before  the  world,  Gerald.  It 
must  be  before  the  world !  It  would  kill  me  to 
have  it  said — that  I — "  . 

The  tears  had  risen  to  her  eyes.  He  soothed  her 
gently  and  kissed  away  the  briny  drops.  In  spite  of 
all  she  could  not  help  sobbing  on  his  shoulder,  and 
he  began  to  feel  a  good  deal  like  a  villain. 

A  coil  of  her  rich,  dark  hair  fell  upon  her  neck.  He 
begged  her  not  to  put  it  up  again  just  then,  and 
soon  his  fingers  were  slowly  unbraiding  it  as  he 
talked  to  her.  The  tresses  which  he  unbound  were 
of  unusual  luxuriance  and  he  made  a  veil  of  them 
which  hid  both  their  faces,  as  his  cheek  lay  against 
hers.  She  ceased  to  sob  and  they  found  contentment 
in  silence. 

Mary  had  forgotten  to  fill  the  lamp  on  the  table 
and  at  this  juncture  it  went  out.  There  was  light 
enough,  however,  from  the  windows,  through  which 
the  moonlight  shone,  and  they  could  see  each  other 
distinctly. 

"  The  sky  must  be  full  of  stars  to-night,"  said 
Alma,  at  last,  after  neither  had  spoken  for  a  long  time. 

"I  see  but  two,"  he  answered,  gazing  full  into  her 
eyes.  "I  see  nothing,  know  nothing  but  you.  1 
think  the  world  has  receded,  and  left  us  two  alone." 


250  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMY. 

There  are  tragedies  of  the  sea,  tragedies  of  the 
land,  tragedies  of  the  air.  A  steamer  goes  down 
with  a  thousand  souls  on  board.  A  railway  train 
dashes  from  a  bridge,  and  the  spreading  fire  com- 
pletes the  deadly  work.  An  aeronaut  with  his  party 
of  pleasure  seekers  dares  the  dizzy  height  and  from 
the  ether  all  come  tumbling.  There  are  tragedies 
of  the  noiseless  dagger,  the  quick  report  of  the 
ready  revolver,  the  pangs  of  the  purposely  adminis- 
tered poison.  Cupidity  and  Revenge  slay  their 
multitudes,  but  Love  uncontrolled  wrecks  more  lives 
than  they.  Decked  out  in  pleasing  attire,  coming 
velvet-shod,  it  works  its  havoc  ere  Suspicion  thinks 
to  wake  the  sentinel. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  WHAT    WAS   THAT    SOUND  ?" 

It  was  bright  daylight  when  Mary  Carson  started 
from  her  armchair  in  the  dining-room,  and  realized 
how  long  she  had  slept.  In  another  second  sha 
opened  the  doors  that  led  to  the  parlor,  and  dis- 
covered Alma  sleeping  soundly  upon  the  sofa  there. 
The  long  hair  of  her  mistress  was  unbound  and 
floated  about  her  like  a  cloud,  while  on  her  cheeks 
were  the  tell-tale  traces  of  tears. 

"  O  dear  !  0  dear  !"  groaned  Mary  to  herself. 
"  Must  they  always  end  like  this  ?  Nothing  but 
another  quarrel  could  have  made  her  cry." 

She  stooped  down  and  awoke  Alma  as  gently  as 


"WHAT  WAS  THAT  SOUND  ?"  251 

she  could.  The  girl  gazed  at  her  with  a  fixed  expres- 
sion when  first  she  opened  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were 
uncertain  whether  what  she  saw  was  real  or  some- 
thing in  a  dream. 

"  It  is  morning,"  said  Mary,  apologetically  ;  "  I  have 
been  asleep.  I  did  not  hear  Mr.  Gerald  when  he 
came  or  went." 

Alma  roused  herself  slowly,  sat  up  and  allowed  the 
maid  to  arrange  her  hair. 

"What  time  did  he  come?"  asked  Mary,  feeling 
the  oppression  of  the  silence.  "  It  must  have  been 
very  late." 

A  shiver  ran  over  the  frame  of  her  mistress. 

"  He  did  not  come  at  all,"  she  replied,  in  a  forced 
tone. 

"  Not  come  ?  After  his  note  !  And  that  is  why 
you  have  been  weeping !  My  poor  girl  !  But  you 
do  wrong  to  weep.  It  could  have  been  no  fault  of 
his,  I  am  sure  of  that.  He  loves  you,  if  ever  a  man 
loved.  I  shall  be  so  glad  when  the  time  comes  for 
you  to  be  married,  and  all  this  unhappy  business  is 
over!!" 

Again  the  shiver  ran  over  Alma's  frame,  but  she 
repressed  it  as  well  as  she  could,and  began  to  put  on 
her  hat. 

"  I  can  trust  you,  Mary,  can  I  not  ?"  she  asked, 
Studiously  avoiding  her  eyes.  "  I  have  something 
important  to  tell  you — a  very  great  secret." 

Mary  caught  one  of  her  mistress'  hands  and  kissed 
it  warmly. 

"  I  would  die  for  you  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  shall  want — I  shall  need — your  help,"  con- 
tinued Alma,  with  a  frigid  reserve  quite  foreign  to 
her  usual  manner  of  intercourse.  "  I — " 


252  THE  GABSTON  BIGAMY. 

She  staggered  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  Mary 
extended  her  arms  and  caught  her.  But  she  imme- 
diately rallied  and  stood  upright  again. 

"  I  am  going — to  be — married,"  she  continued* 
slowly.  "  It  is  to  be  a  secret  affair,  for  my  father—- 
and— "  she  hesitated  long — "  my  mother  would 
object.  But — when  they  know  of  it — they  will — for- 
give me — and  him.  You  understand.  We  are  to  be 
— married — quietly,  and  it  is  not  to  be  known  to  any 
one  but  you  and  the — the  person  who  performs  the 
—ceremony." 

Mary  clasped  her  hands  in  supplication. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Alma,  is  it  wise  ?"  she  cried.  "  It  is  not 
my  place  to  advise  you,  but  have  you  thought  of 
everything  ?" 

Alma  choked  down  a  rising  in  her  throat  at  this 
evidence  of  devotion. 

"  It  is  to  be,"  she  said.  "  I  will  let  you  know  when 
— to-morrow.  He — Gerald — will  bring  a  justice  here 
— no,  no  !  not  here  !"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly,  look- 
ing about  the  room.  "  Not  here  !  That  was  a  mis- 
take. But  we  will  meet  him  somewhere — and  you 
will  go  as  a  witness.  Do  not  ask  me  to  explain. 
There  is  danger  that  they  will  try  to  part  us  if  they 
know  it,  and — when  this  ceremony  is  performed—- 
they can  do  nothing.  He  will  be  mine,  then — mine 
forever !" 

There  was  no  surprise  at  the  Adams  mansion  when 
Alma  returned  just  at  breakfast  time  and  said  that 
she  and  Mary  had  stayed  all  night  at  the  summer 
house.  The  weather  was  unusually  warm  for  the  sea- 
son and  it  was  much  cooler  by  the  lake.  Alma  found 
letters  from  her  parents  that  had  just  been  brought 
from  the  post-office,  and  she  read  them  with  flutter- 


"WHAT  WAS  THAT  BOUND?"  253 

ing  heart.  Had  ever  a  girl  such  parents  as  she,  and 
had  ever  one  so  basely  deceived  them  ?  She  thought 
of  the  sweet,  gentle  face  of  her  mother,  who  was 
reported  no  better,  and  felt  hardly  fit  to  call  her  by 
that  dear  name.  What  would  she  say  if  she  knew  ? 

She  had  gone  so  far  now  that  she  could  not  recede. 
The  sooner  she  had  a  right  to  the  name  of  wife  the 
better.  To  wait  till  her  father  returned  was  out  of 
the  question.  She  heartily  wished  she  had  accepted 
Gerald's  proposal  to  have  the  secret  marriage  a  week 
ago.  Probably  no  one  would  ever  learn  of  her  indis- 
cretion; but,  whatever  happened,  she  would  have  the 
companionship — the  love,  long  as  life  lasted — of  the 
man  she  adored. 

She  had  no  thought  of  blaming  him.  What  girl 
ever  blames  her  lover  while  he  remains  true  ?  There 
might  be  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  store  for  her — pos- 
sibly the  loss  of  parents,  friends,  the  home  where  she 
had  always  lived — but  there  would  always  be  Gerald ! 
Twelve  hours  must  elapse  before  she  could  meet  him 
again  !  How  could  she  wait  so  long  ? 

As  evening  approached  she  grew  more  and  more 
impatient.  She  was  more  anxious  now  than  ever 
Gerald  had  been  to  have  the  ceremony  of  marriage 
take  place,  and  he  had  promised  to  fix  the  day  and 
hour  when  he  came  again.  As  soon  as  she  had  eaten 
a  scanty  supper  she  went  to  the  summer-house  with 
Mary,  though  she  had  no  reason  to  expect  her  lover 
for  two  hours  yet.  She  was  exceedingly  nervous, 
trembling  in  every  joint,  and  starting  at  the  least 
sound. 

She  declined  Mary's  offer  to  sit  with  her  till  he 
came,  saying  she  would  much  rather  be  alone. 
When  she  heard  his  step  she  sprang  to  meet  him  and 


954  THE    GAK8TON     BIGAMY. 

clung  about  his  neck  as  a  drowning  person  clings  to 
a  spar. 

"Gerald!" 

"  My  wife !" 

There  was  something  in  that  tender  word  that 
made  her  relax  her  hold  and  cover  her  eyes  with  her 
hands. 

"  Don't  call  me  that — yet !"  she  said.  "  I  feel  so 
wicked  !" 

He  kissed  her  mouth,  her  neck,  her  hair,  and  when 
he  had  disengaged  her  hands  he  kissed  them,  too,  and 
then  the  eyes  he  had  uncovered. 

"  So  you  are  not  my  wife  ?"  he  said,  brightly. 
"Yes,  before  God,  you  are  !" 

"And  when  is  the  ceremony  to  be?"  she  asked, 
casting  down  her  glance. 

"  The  ceremony  ?  Are  you,  then,  in  such  a  hurry 
for  that  form  ?" 

She  put  her  hands  on  each  side  of  his  head  and 
drew  his  face  close  to  hers  with  a  spasmodic  move- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  Gerald,  you  will  not  delay  it — now?" 

He  laughed  good-humoredly,  for  her  intensity 
pleased  him. 

"  Not  an  instant  longer  than  is  necessary,"  he 
responded.  "  I  have  spent  half  the  day  trying  to 
find  a  fellow  who  does  such  things — Justice  Moseley, 
whose  home  is  over  in  Linton.  They  told  me  he  was 
at  one  place  and  another,  and  I  kept  up  the  chase 
until  it  got  so  late  that  I  feared  keeping  you  waiting. 
But  I  have  left  word  that  I  shall  see  him  to-morrow, 
and  no  doubt  I  can  arrange  to  have  him  meet  us 
here  the  next  day." 


"WHAT  WA8   THAT   SOUND  ?"  995 

She  heard  him  with  the  deepest  interest,  and  at  the 
final  words,  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  here,  Gerald.  I  cannot  have  it  here.  Any- 
where else  you  please,  but  not  here." 

He  understood. 

"  I  shall  have  to  think  of  some  other  place,  then," 
he  said.  "  We  cannot  be  seen  in  public  together, 
for  that  would  attract  attention.  I  will  ask  Moseley 
what  he  has  to  suggest.  He  is  all  right — he'll  keep 
it  as  still  as  the  grave,  and  nobody'll  be  the  wiser. 
Have  you  said  anything  to  Mary  ?" 

She  told  him  that  she  had,  and  that  the  maid  had 
agreed  to  be  a  witness.  She  told  him  also  that  she 
had  fallen  asleep  on  the  sofa  and  had  not  been 
awakened  till  daybreak,  at  which  he  expressed 
regret. 

"  And  I  ran  away  at  one  o'clock  !"  he  said,  rue- 
fully. "Ah,  well  !  It  can't  last  much  longer  !" 

He  seemed  to  be  in  great  good  humor  and  had  an 
abandon  that  was  new  to  him.  Alma  thought  he 
was  not  as  grave  as  he  ought  to  be,  but  she  did  not 
tell  him  so.  He  was  now  all  that  she  was  sure  of  in 
the  world,  and  she  did  not  like  to  annoy  him  by  too 
much  criticism.  It  was  midnight  when  he  left,  and 
she  went  to  tell  Mary  that  she  had  concluded  to 
remain  at  the  cottage  again  instead  of  going  home. 

"  Gerald  has  been  making  arrangements  for  the 
marriage,"  she  said.  "  He  thinks  it  can  be  arranged 
to-morrow  or  the  next  day." 

There  was  so  much  of  exultation  in  her  voice  that 
Mary  did  not  like  to  say  anything  to  discourage  her. 
A  happy  mood  was  better,  she  thought,  than  a  tear- 
ful one.  She  wondered,  at  the  same  time,  if  ther» 
were  any  possible  doubt  of  the  full  validity  of  a  ju»- 


ffMJ  TME   6ARSTOJT   BIGAMT. 

tice's  marriage,  and  determined  to  take  a  good  look 
at  the  papers  when  the  ceremony  should  occur.  Still, 
the  more  she  thought  of  it,  her  fears  seemed  foolish. 
Gerald  had  loved  Alma  ever  since  he  was  a  child. 
Why  should  he  wish  to  deceive  her  ?  It  was  a  fan« 
tastic  conception,  and  Mary  resolved  to  banish  it 
from  her  mind,  or  at  least  not  to  mention  it  to  her 
confiding  young  mistress. 

The  next  evening,  when  he  came,  he  told  Alma 
that  he  had  not  seen  the  justice,  but  that  on  the 
succeeding  day  he  should  surely  meet  him.  He 
seemed  as  happy  as  she  at  the  prospect,  and  they 
tried  to  plan  out  their  future.  She  had  money  enough 
of  her  own  to  support  them  for  a  year  or  two,  if  both 
their  fathers  remained  obdurate,  and  after  that  Ger- 
ald would  be  earning  something  at  his  profession. 

"  When  I  am  twenty-one  there  is  nearly  two  thous- 
and dollars  beside  for  me,"  she  said,  "  from  a  sum 
my  grandfather  left  me.  We  shall  want  almost 
nothing  till  then.  I  think  I  could  live  on  your  smiles 
and  ask  no  other  food." 

"  And  I  on  the  honey  of  your  lips,"  he  exclaimed. 
"My  wife! — no  don't  tell  me  not  to  say  it!  My 
wife,  my  darling  wife  !" 

The  tears  that  stood  in  her  eyes  now  were  happy 
ones. 

"  It  is  too  wonderful  to  last  !"  she  whispered,  softly. 
"  Life  cannot  be  a  succession  of  days  like  this  F 

"  It  will  furnish  us  many  far  brighter  ones !"  he 
answered. 

Ai  that  moment  both  of  them  started,  and  each 
read  the  same  thought  in  the  eyes  of  the  othtr. 

"  Wha t  was  that  sound  ?" 


HIS  larrmmx.  957 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

NURSING    HIS    REVENG1. 

I*  was  the  fifth  day  since  Gerald  had  bee«  seen  at 

the  Staples  mansion.  Edith  knew  that  he  was  in 
town,  and  his  unaccountable  absence  gave  her  the 
deepest  distress.  She  knew  that  he  was  given  to 
odd  ways,  but  there  seemed  no  reason  for  his  con- 
duct in  this  instance.  The  colonel  asked  each  even- 
ing, or  each  morning,  if  he  happened  to  be  from  the 
house,  "  Has  Gerald  been  here,  yet  ?"  and  when  the 
silent  negative  greeted  him  his  face  grew  dark  and 
he  felt  duplicated  in  his  own  mind  all  the  suffering 
that  his  daughter  experienced. 

The  colonel  did  not  mean  to  say  much  to  Edith,  if 
he  could  help  it,  until  something  definite  had  been 
arranged.  But  she  anticipated  him  one  evening, 
and  compelled  him  to  enter  on  the  dreaded  subject 
sooner  than  he  had  intended. 

u  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  father,"  she  said,  coming 
to  his  side  in  his  library,  where  he  was  trying  to  read 
a  newspaper.  "  You  know  there  is  something 
wrong  about  Gerald.  It  troubles  me  and  that  makes 
it  trouble  you.  Now— don't  interrupt  me,  please,  for 
a  minute — I  care  a  great  deal  for  him,  but  he  cannot 
treat  me  in  this  way  much  longer.  He  is  at  his 
father's.  He  comes  and  goes  in  the  village.  Every- 
body sees  him.  I  have  sufficient  love  to  bear  almost 
anything  but  neglect.  It  is  five  days  since  he  has 
galled.  I  shall  wait  two  days  more— that  will  give 


258  THE    GARSTON    BIGAMT. 

him  a  week — and  then  I  shall  write,  saying  that  1 
release  him  from  all  the  promises  he  has  made." 

The  father  heard  her  with  great  distress. 

"  Wait  a  little  longer,  Edie,"  said  he.  "  Gerald  is 
not  well.  He  is  passing  through  a  period  that 
neither  his  father  nor  I  can  understand,  but  he  loves 
you,  and  you  must  do  nothing  to  prevent  his  return 
to  a  normal  state.  Let  it  go  a  few  days  longer,  and 
he  will  come  back  to  you,  and  very  sorry,  I  am  sure, 
for  the  neglect  he  has  shown." 

She  did  not  seem  in  the  least  convinced. 

"  I  cannot  share  your  opinion,  father.  And  there 
is  another  thing.  I  want  to  go  with  you  to  Europe. 
I  could  not  stay  here,  where  people  are  already 
gossiping.  You,  yourself,  say  that  I  am  not  looking 
well.  A  voyage  would  do  me  good.  Dear  father,  if 
nothing  comes  to  re-unite  us,  let  me  go  with  you." 

The  colonel  hesitated,  but  finally  said  that  if  Edith 
would  consent  to  do  nothing  until  the  time  came  for 
his  departure — which  would  give  Gerald  what  he 
was  obliged  to  admit  was  ample  time  to  change  his 
course — he  would  take  her.  It  was  his  hope  that 
Garston  would  have  his  arrangements  made  by  that 
time,  and  that  Gerald  would  be  one  of  the  party. 
On  the  whole  it  was  as  well  that  Edith  had  spoken. 
It  could  give  her  something  to  take  up  her  mind, 
and  if  everything  did  break  between  her  and  Gerald 
the  foreign  journey  would  certainly  be  best.  He 
knew  that  the  girl  felt  severely  the  blow  that  she 
had  received. 

A  week  passed,  and  nothing  was  seen  of  Gerald 
at  the  colonel's.  During  the  day  he  usually  remained 
at  home.  He  never  arose  to  breakfast  now,  and 
*»*  indisposition  was  given  as  a  reason  why  he  should 


HUESING   HIS   EKTBNGE.  859 

not  be  disturbed  until  he  chose  to  show  himself, 
which  was  generally  near  the  hour  of  noon.  Every 
night  he  retired  as  soon  as  his  supper  was  eaten,  but 
a  light  was  always  seen  burning  in  his  room,  and  it 
was  understood  that  he  read  a  good  deal,  on  account 
of  inability  to  sleep. 

It  was  from  no  fault  of  Gerald's  that  this  entire 
week  passed  without  his  marriage  taking  place.  He 
had  tried,  honestly  enough,  to  find  Moseley,  but 
fate  seemed  against  him.  The  justice  was  called 
away  to  another  part  of  the  State  on  the  very  day 
when  Gerald  left  word  that  he  wished  to  see  him, 
and  not  thinking  that  the  young  man  had  anything 
of  great  importance  to  communicate  he  had  gone  on 
his  journey,  leaving  word  that  he  should  be  back  in 
three  or  four  days.  As  frequently  happens  the  three 
or  four  days  lengthened  out  to  six  or  seven,  and 
Alma  had  many  sad  hours  in  consequence.  She  felt 
each  day  that  her  position  was  growing  more  unbear- 
able. She  bitterly  repented  that  she  had  not  con- 
sented to  the  union  when  Gerald  first  proposed  it. 
But  each  evening,  when  he  came,  he  assured  her 
that  the  affair  would  certainly  take  place  on  the 
morrow.  And,  clasped  in  his  arms,  close  to  the  heart 
she  now  loved  with  all  the  passionate  fervor  of  her 
nature,  she  forgot,  at  least  for  the  hour,  what  a  narrow 
gulf  separated  her  from  the  yawning  chasm  at  her* 
feet 

The  perfect  confidence  that  Mary  Carson  had  in 
her  young  mistress  and  her  lover  lulled  the  suspicions 
that  might  otherwise  have  arisen.  Alma  told  her  that 
it  was  useless  for  her  to  sit  up  longer  than  her  usual 
home  hour,  now  that  they  were  to  sleep  always  at 
the  cottage,  and  that  she  herself  would  show  Gerald 


260  TEX  GABSTON   BIGAMY. 

out  and  lock  the  gate  and  door  behind  him.  Mary 
did  not  know  that  the  time  the  young  man  left  grew 
later  and  later,  until  at  last  he  hardly  escaped  from 
the  wood  before  the  sun  rose  over  the  eastern  hills. 
Even  had  she  seen  him  go  at  that  hour  she  would 
never  have  dreamed  that  anything  wrong  had 
happened.  She  might  have  thought  it  indiscreet 
not  to  avail  himself  of  the  cover  of  darkness,  but 
nothing  more.  Much  must  be  allowed  to  the  fervor 
of  the  young  couple  whose  wedding  day — unknown 
though  it  might  be  to  the  world — was  so  near  at  hand. 

John  Garston,  though  he  passed  each  night  out  of 
doors,  did  not  spend  his  mornings  in  sleep.  The 
near  approach  of  his  revenge  was  rest  enough  for 
him.  A  nap  in  his  chair  after  dinner  brightened  his 
eyelids  again.  Night  after  night  he  lay  concealed 
within  twenty  feet  of  the  gateway  which  led  to  the 
cottage,  and  heard  the  whispered  confidences 
between  his  son  and  his  enemy's  daughter  at  parting — 
confidences  damning  to  their  reputations— or  at  least 
to  hers,  for  John  thought  that  in  such  matters  men 
have  no  reputations  to  lose.  Damning  was  what  he 
heard  to  that  handsome  girl,  so  like  her  mother  in 
feature,  so  like  her  father  in  haughtiness,  but  soon 
to  be  broken  like  a  reed  by  the  man  they  had  so  long 
despised. 

It  was  no  small  part  of  his  joy  that  the  boy  they 
had  not  scrupled  to  take  to  their  bosoms,  so  much 
better,  in  their  opinion,  than  his  sire,  should  be  the 
instrument  to  bring  shame  and  dishonor  on  their 
house!  The  man  with  a  deep-seated  hate  forgets 
everything  but  his  revenge.  He  forgets  what  was 
the  original  cause  of  his  hatred,  what  mitigating  cir- 
cumstances have  since  arisen — everything  but  that 


HIS  KETKHOB.  991 

be  hat  an  account  to  settle,  and  that  it  has  grown 
heavier  by  long  delay. 

The  night  that  Gerald  and  Alma  were  startled  bj 
that  unexpected  sound,  he  had  climbed  into  a  large 
tree  that  overlooked  the  enclosure  where  the  house 
stood,  and  from  a  secure  position  in  the  branches  had 
beheld  through  the  uncurtained  window  of  the  par- 
lor the  love-making  within.  It  was  a  strange  freak  of 
the  brain  that  the  very  sight  he  hoped  for  should 
cause  him  such  indignation.  But  the  thought,  that 
his  son — his  Gerald — still  loved  this  girl  so  blindly 
sapped  the  strength  in  his  limbs  and  for  the  instant 
he  lost  his  hold.  Before  a  second  had  passed,  how- 
ever, he  had  slipped  noiselessly  from  the  tree  to  the 
ground  and  concealed  himself  further  away. 

The  young  people  listened,  with  alarm  depicted  on 
both  their  faces,  but  soon  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  wind  was  responsible  for  the  sound  and 
gave  it  no  further  thought.  They  had  become 
accustomed  to  each  other's  presence  and  the  idea  of 
interruption  by  mischievous  outsiders  never  occurred 
to  them. 

At  last  Gerald  was  abls  to  tell  Alma  that  he  had 
seen  Moseley,  and  that  the  justice  would  tell  him  the 
next  day  where  he  could  meet  the  couple  and 
"  unite  "  them  without  danger  of  detection.  This 
pleased  the  girl  so  much  that  she  redoubled  her  ten- 
derness, and  Gerald  thought  she  had  never  been  so 
sweet  and  charming  as  on  that  evening. 

"  But  does  it  not  have  to  be  recorded  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  according  to  law,  but  Moseley  will  take  his 
time  about  it.  Oh,  you  need  not  fear.  He  knows 
what  is  wanted  and  they  will  get 


962  THE   OAR8TON    BIGAMY. 

from  him.  In  a  month  or  two  more,  after  you  have 
arranged  things  with  your  father,  he  may  tell  the 
whole  county  for  all  we  care.  People  would  only 
laugh  and  say  it  was  a  young  couple's  adventure. 
There  is  considered  nothing  culpable  in  a  match  of 
that  sort,  now-a-days." 

She  drank  in  his  words  as  though  they  were  the 
water  of  life. 

"  And  is  such  a  marriage  just  as  good — just  as 
honorable — as  one  in  a  church?"  she  asked.  "I 
want  to  be  made  yours  as  strong  as  the  law  can 
make  me." 

"Do  you?"  he  answered,  laughing  merrily. 
"  That  is  the  way  all  women  talk  before  the  cere- 
mony. At  the  divorce  court  they  tell  a  different 
story." 

She  would  not  join  in  this  mood  of  his. 

"I  want  to  be  yours  till  death,"  she  said,  soberly. 
"  I  want  to  know  that  when  I  am  laid  in  the  earth 
your  body  will  be  beside  me." 

"What  a  grisly  idea  !"  he  cried,  in  mock  affright. 
"  It  is  enough  for  me  now  that  I  am  to  be  beside  you 
while  you  are  living." 

She  nestled  closer  to  him. 

41 1  am  afraid  that  you  will  respect  me  less,  some 
day,  because — " 

"Hush  !  I  should  be  a  wretch  to  think  of  such  a 
thing,  when  if  there  is  any  blame  it  is  all  my  own. 
But  it  can  never  be.  The  proof  of  your  love  which  I 
have  had  will  only  make  you  dearer." 

He  believed  it  I  Men  always  believe  those  things 
— when  they  say  them.  It  is  not  you  alone,  sweet 
girls,  it  is  themselves  they  deceive.  What  madness 
fills  your  brains  that  you  listen  to  them  ? 


263 


On  the  last  night  that  Gerald  spent  with  Alma 
they  were  longer  even  than  usual  in  their  parting  at 
the  gate,  and  they  had  become  so  confident  of  their 
isolation  that  their  voices  were  not  as  low  as  they  had 
once  been.  The  concealed  spy  heard  the  assurance 
of  his  son  that  the  morrow  should  surely  see  them 
united,  though  the  marriage  was  to  be  kept  for  the 
present  a  secret.  He  knew  now  that  the  time  for 
action  had  come.  When  the  lovers  had  at  last  torn 
themselves  from  each  other's  embrace,  and  the  key 
had  been  turned  in  the  lock,  Garston  emerged  from 
his  hiding-place  and  followed  rapidly  in  the  foot- 
steps of  Gerald. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

"l  KNOW    HER  CHARACTER.** 

The  young  man  was  so  absorbed  in  contemplation 
as  he  threaded  the  wooded  path,  that  he  heard  noth. 
ing  of  his  pursuer  until  they  were  close  together. 
When  the  step  behind  him  smote  on  his  ears  he 
turned  quickly  to  see  whose  it  was,  thinking  to 
shape  his  conduct  accordingly.  The  stern  face  of 
his  father  was  something,  however,  for  which  he 
had  made  no  preparation,  and  his  eyes  fell  before 
it  as  he  stopped  to  allow  of  his  approach. 

'*  You  are  out  early,"  was  Garston's  first  greeting. 

"  Yes.  I  did  not  sleep  well  and  I  thought  a  walk 
would  do  me  good." 

The  reply  was  delivered  in  a  tremulous  voice,  that 


JW  THE   GAKSTON    BIGAMY. 

would   not  have  been  lost  on  even  a  less  interested 
listener. 

"And  she?"  said  Garston,  in  a  meaning  tone,  peer* 
ing  into  the  countenance  of  his  son.  "  Did  she  also 
'sleep  badly?'" 

How  much  did  he  know  ?  How  much  did  he  only 
guess  ?  Like  lightning  these  thoughts  flashed 
through  Gerald's  brain. 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  sir  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Don't  play  innocence  with  me  !"  cried  Garston, 
angrily.  "  I  am  in  no  mood  to  bear  it !  You  cannot 
make  me  doubt  the  evidence  of  my  eyes  and  ears.  I 
know  where  you  have  been  night  after  night,  when 
you  have  pretended  to  be  in  your  room.  A  fine  piece 
of  work,  is  it  not  ?  You  are  proud  of  it,  I  have  no 
doubt !" 

The  manhood  that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  son's 
nature,  though  often  obscured  by  grosser  qualities, 
came  to  the  surface. 

"  I  told  you  long  ago,"  he  said,  his  voice  grown 
firmer,  "that  I  loved  her.  If  I  have  visited  her  sur- 
reptitiously it  is  because  you  made  it  impossible  for 
me  to  see  her  in  any  other  way.  I  tell  you  again 
that  nothing  you  can  do  or  say  will  make  me  change 
my  purpose  to  marry  her." 

Garston  advanced  as  if  to  assault  his  son,  but 
refrained. 

"  Insane  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  fury,  "  do 
you  know  what  you  are  talking  about  ?  Marry  her  / 
Is  that  the  kind  of  girl  you  would  select  for  a  wife  ? 
Do  you  want  to  marry  a  girl  who  is  totally  wanting 
in  a  sense  of  what  is  decent,  who — " 

Gerald  was  the  one,  this  time,  to  threaten. 


*I  KNOW   HER  CHARACTER.**  265 

"  Stop  !*'  he  cried  warningly.  "  Say  another  word 
against  her  and  I  shall  forget  you  are  my  father !" 

"Strike  me  !"  replied  the  elder  man.  "It  would 
be  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  your  conduct.  Put 
another  scar  on  my  forehead  to  match  the  one  he 
put  there !"  He  removed  his  hat  to  show  it,  and 
Gerald  looked  at  the  dark  red  mark  with  a  feeling  of 
pain.  "  I  am  only  your  father.  I  have  sacrificed  my 
life  for  yours  these  twenty  years,  but  that  is  nothing. 
Strike  me,  because  I  dare  tell  you  that  the  girl  is 
unfit  for  you.  Strike  me,  I  say  !  I  assure  you  I  know 
everything.  You  forgot,  in  your  infatuation,  even 
to  draw  the  curtains  of  your  room.  Yes,"  for  he  saw 
the  terrible  effect  this  statement  was  making,  "  the 
fence  is  high  and  the  boards  are  close,  but  the  trees 
outside  are  higher !  You  can  tell  me  nothing." 

The  horror  of  this  revelation  was  so  great  that 
Gerald  succumbed  under  it.  He  sank  at  his  father's 
feet  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  The 
ground  seemed  reeling  from  under  him.  Was  this 
a  man  or  a  devil  that  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
revere  ? 

Garston  looked  down  on  the  prostrate  figure,  try- 
ing to  measure  his  words  to  the  best  advantage. 

'*  I  could  have  forgiven  you  the  folly  of  a  tem- 
porary passion,"  he  said.  "  I  know  the  temptations 
of  youth  and  that  any  man  is  liable  to  yield  to 
illicit  love.  Disgraceful  it  certainly  is,  but  not 
unpardonable.  It  is  only  when  you  talk  of  uniting 
my  blood,  which  though  that  of  a  poor  man  is  yet 
honorable,  with  that  of  a  girl  who  has  forgotten 
virtue — '* 

The  sentence  was    not  finished.     The  writhing 


266  1HE   GABSTON   BIQAMT. 

figure  on  the  ground  sprang  like  a  panther  to  hi* 
feet. 

"  Before  Heaven,"  he  cried,  "  another  word  like 
that  and  I  will  murder  you  !  There  is  no  claim  that 
you  have  on  me  which  permits  you  to  slander  the 
loveliest  girl  on  earth,  whose  only  fault,  if  it  be  one, 
is  that  she  has  loved  too  well  such  an  undeserving 
man  as  I  !  You  say  I  have  done  wrong.  If  it  be  so, 
there  is  only  one  way  that  I  can  right  it,  and  that  is, 
to  take  her  to  my  bosom  before  the  world.  And 
that  I  will  do  to-day,  God  permitting  !" 

This  expression  roused  again  the  slumbering  anger 
of  the  father.  For  a  moment  he  had  felt  a  sort  of 
sympathy  with  his  son,  whose  impetuous  fury  had 
proved  how  deeply  he  had  been  wounded.  But  now 
he  hardened  his  heart  again,  and  seizing  Gerald  in  a 
vice-like  grip,  he  held  him  at  arm's  length  as  easily 
as  if  he  had  been  a  child. 

"  Never  shall  you  marry  that  creature !"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Sooner  will  I  take  you  to  the  lake 
there  and  drown  you  with  my  own  hands  !  Decide  !" 
he  vociferated,  overcome  with  rage.  "  Either  give 
her  up  or  meet  a  dog's  death  !" 

As  he  spoke  he  actually  dragged  Gerald  toward 
the  brink  of  the  lake,  which  was  but  a  few  feet  away, 
and  the  young  man  knew  that  he  had  one  to  deal 
with  who  was  for  the  moment  nothing  less  than  a 
maniac.  He  did  not  want  to  die,  and  he  thought  it 
best  to  temporize,  if  it  were  not  too  late,  with  this 
terrible  being  who  had  that  murderous  clutch  on  his 
throat. 

"  Let  me  speak  !"  he  stammered,  tugging  at  the 
hands  that  held  him.  "Are  you  mad  enough  to 
carry  out  this  fearful  threat  because  we  differ  on  a 


"I   KNOW    HER    CHARACTER."  267 

which  is,  after  all,  »f  more  importance  to  me 
than  to  any  one  else  ?" 

14 1  tell  you  again  she  shall  not  be  your  wife  !"  cried 
Garston,  white  with  emotion.  "  It  is  impossible  1 
Think,  boy  !  The  mother  of  your  children  must  be 
above  reproach  !  It  were  a  thousand  times  better 
that  you  perished  in  the  waters  here  than  that  you 
married  such — * 

The  mute  appeal  in  his  son's  eyes  stopped  him  this 
time. 

"Her  maid  has  always  been  with  us,"  faltered 
Gerald. 

Garston  smiled  sardonically. 

"It  will  not  answer  to  say  that — to  me,"  he  said. 
u  I  tell  you  I  am  not  going  by  guess  work.  I  love 
you  with  all  my  soul,  but  I  would  rather  see  your 
corpse  brought  to  my  gate  than  to  have  you  marry 
the  daughter  of  Alvah  Adams — after  what  I  know  !" 

Gerald's  teeth  chattered. 

"Ah!"  he  cried.  "  You  are  a  cruel  man  !  Your 
hatred  has  led  you  to  this — a  hatred  that  you  had  no 
right  to  form  in  the  first  place,  and  that  has  grown 
until  even  the  lifelong  happiness  of  your  only  son 
must  be  sacrificed  to  it." 

"  No,"  was  the  reply.  "  Your  happiness  lies  with 
Edith  Staples,  a  girl  against  whom  no  man  can  bring 
a  word  of  accusation.  Come  home  and  think  about 
it.  _When  you  are  calm,  you  will  admit  that  I  am 
right  and  that  this  passion  that  has  brought  you 
to  so  ignoble  a  pass  is  only  temporary.  Gerald," 
tie  continued,  his  voice  growing  gentler,  "  I  love  you. 
If  I  have  seemed  rough  it  was  because  of  my  anger 
at  your  continued  opposition  to  what  is  surely  for 


908  1MB  GAESTON  EIGAHT. 

your  best  good.    Come  home  with  me,  and  let  MS 

talk  it  over." 

The  two  men  vanished  through  the  woods,  walk- 
ing slowly  and  talking  as  they  went,  and  a  third  man 
came  out  of  the  thick  clump  of  trees  just  above  them, 
looking  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow.  It  was  Clifford 
Nelson,  who  had  started  out  for  an  early  walk,  with 
no  definite  object  in  view,  and  had  come  suddenly 
within  hearing  of  the  angry  voices.  He  had  heard 
Garston's  threat  to  drown  his  son,  and  had  been 
ready  at  first  to  interfere  if  necessary  to  prevent  that 
catastrophe.  Then,  as  he  caught  further  bits  of  the 
heated  conversation,  which  showed  him  that  Gerald 
had  been  visiting  Alma  at  the  summer-house  under 
circumstances  more  or  less  open  to  suspicion,  he  felt 
almost  willing  to  offer  his  aid  to  the  murderous  sire 
in  case  he  was  unable  to  carry  out  his  purpose  single- 
handed. 

"  His  father  has  taken  him  away,  and  judging  by 
the  terror  of  his  face  he  will  mould  him  to  his  will," 
mused  Nelson,  as  he  walked  back  to  the  hotel.  "  He 
is  a  cur  and  a  coward.  But,"  and  his  face  grew 
darker,  "if  talk  comes  of  this,  God  help  him  !" 


••BALD  IN  A  ram.  369 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

GERALD    IN     A      FEVER. 

Gerald  was  in  such  a  highly  nervous  conditiofl 
when  he  reached  home  that  he  was  obliged  to  refuse 
breakfast  and  retired  at  once  to  his  chamber,  in  the 
hope  that  sleep  would  give  him  temporary  relief. 
His  father  had  said  such  things  in  the  way  of  argu- 
ment that  he  hardly  knew  how  to  answer  them,  even 
to  his  own  mind.  He  felt  a  certain  guilt,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  admit  that  a  good  deal  of  his  con- 
duct was  not  praiseworthy.  Whatever  his  parent's 
mistakes,  whatever  his  errors  of  judgment,  he  had 
surely  been  a  thoughtful  father  to  him.  Never  had 
he  tried  to  balk  him  in  anything  until  this  case 
arose. 

After  going  into  his  room  he  threw  himself  on  the 
bed,  where  through  his  awakened  mind  ran  the 
long  list  of  kindly  things  that  his  father  had  done. 
The  education  which  he  had  provided  when  the 
mortgagees  stood  at  his  elbow  and  he  had  to  deny 
himself  every  luxury  that  his  son  might  have  it  all ! 
The  way  in  which  his  trouble  had  been  hid,  lest  it 
should  annoy  him,  recurred  to  Gerald,  as  well  as  a 
hundred  other  instances  of  similar  thoughtfulness. 
And  in  payment  for  this  he  had  that  morning 
addressed  his  father  like  a  young  hoodlum  from  the 
purlieus  of  South  street !  Gerald  wondered  that  the 
roof  over  his  head  did  not  fall  and  crush  him  for  an 
ungrateful  scamp. 

Still  this  father  of  his  had  driven  him  frantic  for 


S70  THE   GARSTON    BIGAMY. 

the  moment  by  what  he  said  of  Alma— words  so 
totally  uncalled  for  that  patience  fell  before  them. 
Gerald  reflected  that  the  suddenness  of  the  assault 
Upon  his  feelings  mitigated  his  action,  for  it  gave  him 
no  time  to  think.  Poor  Alma  !  It  wou]d  break  her 
heart  if  she  dreamed  of  it.  He  thought  of  hef 
awhile  and  of  the  sweet  tokens  of  her  love  which  she 
had  given  him.  He  tried  to  repent  of  his  wrong, 
but  it  was  only  on  account  of  being  detected  that  he 
was  truly  sorry.  It  is  the  "  getting  found  out  "  that 
constitutes  a  violation  of  the  latest  and  most  impor* 
tant  commandment. 

The  thoughts  of  Gerald  kept  returning  to  his  father. 
Did  he  not  owe  him  something  in  return  for  his 
years  of  kindness  ?  Was  there  no  way  to  reconcile 
his  duty  to  others  with  that  which  it  was  the  right  of 
this  friend  to  demand  ?  It  must  be  hard  to  bring  a 
child  to  the  age  of  manhood  and  find  him  stubbornly 
refusing  to  listen  to  advice  meant  for  his  best  good. 

There  was  Edith,  too.  A  gentle  feeling  crept  over 
him  as  her  vision  came  across  his  mind.  Beautiful 
as  a  lily,  loving  him  with  a  tenderness  none  the  less 
evident  because  partly  hidden  by  a  naturally 
reserved  demeanor,  it  was  no  wonder  that  she  had 
made  an  impression  on  the  iron  mind  of  his  father. 
Gerald  thought  of  the  handsome  way  in  which  the 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Staples  had  always  treated  him,  of 
the  sweet  hours  he  had  passed  with  Edith.  He  had 
given  her  cause  to  think  that  she  was  the  one  des- 
tined to  be  his  for  life,  and  now  he  proposed  to 
desert  her  ruthlessly.  Contemptible  as  it  was  it  had 
a  double  meanness  after  he  had  allowed  her  father 
to  save  his  in  his  direst  distress  under  an  implied 
expectation.  Ought  he  not  to  sacrifice  everything 


•EBALD  IN  A  FBTEB.  271 

«/  keep  this  obligation?  Could  he  justify  himself 
even  for  love's  sake  in  deserving  the  contempt  of 
honest  men,  after  what  had  happened  ? 

Then  there  came  into  his  mind  ^ike  the  hazy 
beginning  of  a  great  fog  that  is  to  envelop  every- 
thing in  sight,  the  awful  thought  that  his  father 
had  placed  there,  respecting  the  obligation  of  a 
woman  who  weds  to  be  in  all  things  above  reproach. 
He  had  repelled  it  when  it  was  uttered,  and  had  felt 
arrayed  against  it  all  the  forces  of  his  being.  But 
now  it  came  back  to  him,  and  would  not  be  driven  out 
of  his  memory.  A  wife  !  A  mother  by-and-by,  of 
his  children  !  Was  there  anything  in  the  insinuation 
that  she  who  had  permitted  herself  to  yield  once  to 
illicit  love  might  again  find  herself  in  some  new 
field  unable  to  withstand  temptation  ? 

No,  it  was  outrageous  !  Alma  had  only  surren- 
dered when  her  great  love  had  swept  her  into  the  vor- 
tex of  the  stream,  and  to  the  man  whose  wife  she 
expected  soon  to  be.  Such  a  woman  could  never 
become  the  prey  of  adventurers — the  deceiver  of  a 
husband  whom  she  had  learned  to  adore.  It  was  a 
shameful  calumny.  The  sweet,  pure,  gentle  Alma, 
filled  with  the  deepest  affection,  her  very  innocence 
to  blame  for  her  indiscretion  !  He  tried  to  banish 
the  thought,  but  it  clung  to  him  as  poison  ivy  clings 
to  a  wall.  His  mind  would  go  elsewhere  for  the 
moment,  but  it  kept  coming  back  to  this. 

"  Damnation  !"  he  cried.  "  How  can  a  thing  so 
baseless  torture  me  so  ?" 

His  father  came  to  see  him  at  noon,  and  heard 
that  he  had  not  yet  slept.  Taking  him  by  the  hand 
he  found  that  he  was  in  a  fever,  and  begged  him  to 
undress  and  compose  himself  to  rest.  Gerald  replied 


27S  THE  •ABSTON  BIGAMY. 

that  be  was  well  enough,  and  only  wanted  to  be  left 
alone.  He  declined  to  see  a  physician,  stating  that 
he  was  merely  exhausted  from  his  mental  troubles 
and  should  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two.  Garston 
knew  that  unless  something  was  done  a  serious  case 
of  illness  would  follow,  and  finally  induced  him  to 
take  a  quieting  draught.  He  feared  it  would  not  have 
the  intended  effect,  as  Gerald's  nerves  were  in  such 
an  excited  condition,  but  in  twenty  minutes  he  was 
in  so  deep  a  slumber  that  his  father  undressed  him 
and  placed  him  in  his  bed  without  arousing  him. 

44  I  couldn't  have  had  him  going  over  there  again 
to-day,"  muttered  John  to  himself,  as  he  looked  at 
the  quiet  form.  "He  won't  be  likely  to  awake  for 
five  or  six  hours,  and  if  he  does  I'll  tell  the  house- 
keeper to  give  him  a  little  more  of  it.  While  he  is 
still,  I'll  drive  over  to  see  Moseleyand  put  him  off  the 
track." 

Mr.  Moseley  was  surprised  to  see  Mr.  Garston 
alight  at  his  door,  but  he  understood  everything,  or 
thought  he  did,  when  John  stated  the  case  to  him. 

"  Gerald's  concluded  to  do  the  thing  straight,"  said 
John.  "  I  found  out  what  he  was  up  to,  and  as  long 
as  there's  no  help  for  it  I  gave  in.  He  didn't  want  to 
come  himself,  and  as  I  was  driving  over  this  way  I 
said  I'd  let  you  know.  Here's  ten  dollars  for  the 
trouble  you've  had." 

Moseley's  face,  which  had  grown  rather  disheart- 
ened, brightened  as  he  took  the  money. 

44  It's  mum,  you  know,"  said  Garston,  with  bis 
finger  on  his  lips. 

*  Oh,  sartin'ly.  I've  done  too  much  of  this  bus!- 
ness  to  blab,"  smiled  Moseley,  with  a  signifies"* 
Vook.  **  Nobody  won't  hear  nothin'  from  me." 


«BRALD  IN   A  F 

When  Garston  reached  home  he  found  that  Gerald 
had  not  regained  consciousness,  but  that  he  had 
talked  almost  constantly  in  his  sleep  and  had  made 
havoc  with  the  bed  clothes,  requiring  constant  atten- 
tion. Several  times  he  had  tried  to  leave  the  bed, 
and  had  been  prevented  with  difficulty.  The  case 
seemed  serious  enough  to  warrant  the  calling  of  a 
medical  man,  and  a  messenger  was  dispatched  for 
one. 

Dr.  Pease  was  one  of  those  country  practitioners 
who  use  a  good  deal  more  of  common  sense  and  con- 
siderably less  drugs  than  some  of  their  professional 
brethren.  He  shook  his  head  when  he  smelled  the 
opiate  which  Garston  had  given,  saying  it  would 
have  been  better  if  he  had  been  called  in  the  first 
place,  as  such  treatment  would  only  retard  the  young 
man's  recovery.  John  smiled  grimly  to  himself, 
thinking  that  the  doctor  did  not  understand  quite  as 
much  about  the  case  as  he  might.  It  was  essential 
above  all  things  to  keep  Gerald  in  the  house  for  a 
day  or  two. 

«'  What  has  caused  this  ?"  asked  Dr.  Pease,  when 
he  and  John  were  alone  with  the  patient.  "  I  find 
him  in  a  good  deal  of  mental  excitement." 

"  I  suppose  it's  due  to  a  love  affair,  if  you  want  to 
know,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  guess  a  little  rest  Land 
quiet  will  bring  him  around  all  right,  doctor.** 

Dr.  Pease  glared  at  this  presumptuous  man,  who 
thus  presumed  to  tell  him  his  business.  Iff 
"guessed,"  indeed! 

"Why,  he's  got  a  high  fever,"  he  replied.  "His 
temperature  is  many  degrees  above  what  it  should 
be.  His  pulse  goes  like  a  race  horse.  He'll  have  a 
month's  sickness  out  of  this,  if  you're  not  careful" 


274  THE   GARSTON   BIGAMY. 

A  month  !    John  was  revolving  it  over  in  his  mind 

Well,  he  could  stand  a  month  and  win.  Perhaps  a 
month  in  bed  would  settle  everything. 

The  doctor  wrote  out  a  prescription  and  also  a  list 
of  directions,  which  he  said  must  be  closely  followed. 
Then,  promising  to  call  again  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  he  took  his  departure. 

A  month  !  That  would  dispose  of  Alma.  Her 
father  would  be  home  in  a  few  days,  and  some 
method  could  be  adopted  to  let  him  into  enough  of 
his  daughter's  secret  to  put  him  on  his  guard.  Some 
day,  when  Gerald  was  safely  married  to  Edith,  and 
had  gone  far  away,  Garston  meant  to  let  Adams 
know  the  rest.  He  wanted  to  do  this  some  time 
when  the  tidings  would  strike  him  like  a  sledge- 
hammer. But  now  the  most  that  he  hoped  for  was 
to  obtain  a  complete  separation  between  the  young 
people.  He  did  not  mean  that  they  should  ever 
meet,  if  he  could  help  it,  He  laughed  at  the  thought 
that  the  doctor  had  supposed  him  a  fool  when  he 
administered  the  opiate.  There  were  some  things 
that  even  college-educated  men  did  not  knew !  If 
he  could  keep  that  boy  in  bed  a  month,  or  even  a 
fortnight,  he  would  play  a  winning  card  ! 

And  yet  this  father,  in  the  midst  of  his  plot,  loved 
that  son  of  his  !  In  anything  else  he  would  have  laid 
down  his  life  to  save  him.  His  hatred  had  so  choked 
his  judgment  that  he  really  believed  he  was  doing 
what  would  in  the  end  bring  to  Gerald  the  greatest 
happiness. 

It  was  late  the  next  morning  before  the  sick  young 
man  opened  his  eyes.  When  he  did  it  was  only  to  call 
in  a  feeble  voice  for  a  drink  of  water,  and  on  receiv- 
ing it  he  at  once  fell  asleep  again.  At  noon,  the  next 


IN   A   FKVER.  27$ 


time  he  showed  consciousness,  he  partook  of  a  slight 
refreshment,  as  he  had  eaten  nothing  for  nearly  two 
days.  Then  he  dozed  again,  and  when  he  next  knew 
what  was  going  on  —  though  it  was  only  in  a  vague, 
uncertain  way  —  he  saw  Colonel  Staples  and  his  father 
In  the  room. 

"  You  are  better,  my  dear  boy  ?"  said  the  Colonel, 
coming  to  his  bedside. 

"  Do  not  agitate  him,"  said  Mr.  Garston,  warn- 
ingly. 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  doing  so,"  replied  the 
other. 

Gerald  had  forgotten  most  things.  The  events  of 
the  preceding  fortnight  were  not  in  his  mind  at  all. 

"  Shall  I  tell  Edith  that  you  are  better  ?"  asked  the 
Colonel.  "  She  is  very  anxious  for  some  favorable 
word  from  you." 

"  I  did  not  know  till  now,"  said  Gerald,  feebly, 
"  that  I  had  been  ill.  But  I  am  certainly  better  —  much 
better." 

"  Edie  will  be  so  glad—  ** 

Gerald  threw  off  the  clothes  from  his  arms. 

"  Tell  her  that  I  will  be  down  to  see  her  to-night,1* 
said  he. 

"  Not  to-night,"  said  his  father,  replacing  the 
coverings,  to  Gerald's  intense  discomfort.  "  But  soon. 
Tell  her,  Colonel,  that  he  will  be  down  soon.  And,'* 
he  added,  cautiously,  "  if  he  has  to  remain  in  for 
several  days  more,  she  can  come  here  with  you." 

This  struck  Gerald  as  strange.  He  had  not  got 
used  to  thinking  of  himself  as  an  invalid,  and  he 
could  not  imagine  Edith  in  that  room  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. But  as  he  did  not  like  to  exert  himself 
with  too  much  thought,  he  left  it  to  his  father  to  do 


S78  TBB   OAESTON   BIGAMT. 

as  it  pleased  him.  Before  the  visitor  had  departed 
he  was  again  in  slumber,  or  at  least  a  stupor  that 
passed  for  it. 

Edith  was  orerwhelmed  with  grief  when  she  heard 
from  her  father  that  Gerald  was  sick  in  bed,  and 
that  the  doctor  laid  it  to  troubles  of  the  mind,  of 
which  she  feared  that  she  had  been  in  some  way  the 
cause.  Her  love  had  endured  through  all,  though 
her  pride  had  been  sorely  tested  by  his  apparent 
neglect,  but  now  she  was  ready  to  ascribe  everything 
to  the  disease  which  was  gradually  stealing  over  him, 
and  to  forgive  more  readily  than  she  had  been  to 
criticise.  When  the  Colonel  came  home  and  told  her 
that  Gerald  had  sent  a  message  that  he  hoped  soon 
to  see  her  there,  her  heart  gave  a  great  bound  from 
joy.  All  was  to  come  out  right,  after  all.  The 
clouds  that  had  gathered  over  her  head  were  only 
the  fleeting  banks  of  mist  that  come  with  September, 
and  they  would  be  gone  in  a  few  days,  never  to 
return  ! 

Meanwhile,  let  the  reader  conceive  the  situation  of 
Alma  Adams — or  rather,  let  him  attempt  to  conceive 
It,  for  it  is  one  of  those  things  that  nothing  short  of 
experience  can  convey  to  the  mind.  She  had  lived 
for  two  weeks  on  the  presence  of  her  lover,  and  on 
his  promise  that  at  the  very  earliest  possible  instant 
the  law — in  the  person  of  its  servant,  Squire  Moseley 
—should  spread  its  curtain  over  the  relations  which 
they  had  sustained.  On  the  last  evening  that  Gerald 
passed  with  her  he  had  designated  the  morrow  as  the 
day  when  the  legal  steps  which  she  awaited  so 
anxiously  should  be  taken.  He  was  to  come  early 


MI 

in  the  evening  and  tell  her  where  she  and  hei  maid 

should  meet  the  justice. 

She  went  to  the  summer-house  and  waited.  Etghi 
o'clock.  It  was  perhaps  too  early  to  expect  him,  but 
r he  stood  near  the  gate,  ready  to  open  it  at  the  sound 
of  his  step.  Nine  o'clock.  He  must  nave  some  seriou* 
reason  for  delaying  till  that  hour.  Ten.  He  had 
never  been  so  late.  Her  cheek  paled  until  she  was 
as  white  as  he,  lying  at  that  moment  in  his  bed  at 
home.  Eleven t  TWELVE!  ONE! 

Mary  Garson  had  retired  and  knew  nothing  ot  the 
weary  vigil.  Alma  had  no  one  to  sympathize  with 
her,  and  she  wanted  none,  tor  her  secret  was  one  that 
could  not  be  confided  to  mortals.  With  more 
unction  than  she  had  ever  used  in  her  life  she  knelt 
on  the  cold  ground  and  lifted  up  her  heart  to  God. 

"  O  Thou  who  pitiest  them  that  are  in  trouble,  do 
not  altogether  desert  me  !  I  have  been  frail ;  I  have 
been  wicked.  Punish  me,  if  Thou  wilt,  but  not  this 
way  !  Send  him  to  me,  O  God,  before  I  quite  lose 
hope  !  Send  him  to  me,  and  my  every  act  through 
life  shall  be  in  expiation  of  the  grievous  fault  into 
which  my  wild  love  drove  me  !'* 

But  the  Deity  does  not  always  answer  prayers  !ike 
this  in  the  way  the  petitioner  desires.  We  are  told 
that  Jove  laughs  at  lovers'  perjuries.  From  the 
broad  vault  of  heaven  there  comes  no  response  to  the 
agonized  aspirations  of  the  deserted  maidens  who  day 
after  day  send  up  the  same  refrain.  A  thousand 
prayers  will  not  prevent  your  arm  from  burning, 
pretty  one,  if  you  hold  it  in  the  flame. 

Alma  went  in  at  last  and  fell  exhausted  on  the 
sofa,  where  Mary  found  her  in  the  morning,  She 
gave  monosyllabic  replies  to  the  few  questions  that 


278  THE  GARSTOU  BIGAMY. 

the  maid  put  to  her,  and  declined  to  leave  tht 
summer-house  at  all  that  day.  Who  could  tell  but 
he  might  come  at  some  ether  hour,  and  what  if  he 
should  come  and  find  her  absent  ?  Her  meals  were 
brought  to  her  and  she  sat  there  and  waited,  of 
course  vainly.  When  it  was  evening  again  she  felt 
sure  he  would  come  then.  Her  spirits  rose  as  the 
sun  went  down.  Eight  o'clock  again.  Nine  I 
JElevem  There  was  nothing  to  sustain  her  any 
longer,  and  she  gave  vent  to  her  grief  in  copious 
tears. 

Then,  as  if  she  had  not  enough  to  bear  her  down, 
a  new  trouble  came.  A  letter  was  brought  to  the 
cottage  by  one  of  the  house  servants,  bearing  the 
postmark  New  York,  and  in  it  was  most  startling 
news.  Her  mother  had  suddenly  grown  worse,  and 
the  Eastern  physicians  had  advised  that  she  be  taken 
back  at  once  to  her  home  in  Jefferson.  Mr.  Adams 
had  got  as  far  as  New  York  with  her,  when  she  sank 
rapidly  and  further  journeying  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. He  had  taken  her  to  a  hotel,  where  it  had 
become  only  too  evident  that  her  days  were 
numbered. 

"  I  cannot  deceive  you,  my  poor  child,"  wrote  her 
father,  and  the  paper  was  damp  with  the  tears  that 
bad  fallen  upon  it.  "  If  you  would  see  your  mothef 
alive  you  must  take  the  earliest  train.  Even  then  it 
may  be  too  late.  Prepare  for  the  worst." 

That  strength  that  sometimes  accompanies  despair 
enabled  Alma  to  read  this  letter  to  Mary  Carson  and 
to  make  preparations  for  their  departure  with  some 
show  of  courage.  There  is  something  in  knowing 
that  fate  has  done  its  deadliest.  Gerald  had  deserted 
her  and  now  her  mother  was  to  be  taken. 


GERALD  IX  A   FETBR.  879 

uttd  calmly,  the  people  at  the  house  thought  she  pre- 
pared for  a  hasty  journey,  and  took  the  train  for  the 
East. 

Her  mother  had  been  dead  two  days  when  she 
reached  there,  and  her  broken-down  father  leaned 
upon  her  as  the  only  comfort  left  to  him.  It  was  an 
additional  weight  on  her  young  shoulders  to  realize 
how  little  comfort  she  ever  could  be  to  him  again — 
to  him  or  any  one.  That  knowledge  which  brings  a 
happy  light  to  the  face  of  the  wedded  wife  had  come 
to  her  now — but  it  was  to  blast  and  sting.  She 
knew  that  she  should  have  to  go  far  away  from  this 
kind  father — left  with  no  one  else  to  lean  on — and 
hide  her  shame  as  best  she  might  from  the  prying 
eyes  of  the  heartless  world. 

She  might  have  gone  to  Gerald  with  an  officer  of 
the  law,  or  with  a  revolver,  as  she  had  somewhere 
read  of  a  deserted  woman's  doing,  and  demanded 
justice.  But  she  had  no  thought  of  anything  like 
that.  It  was  not  justice  she  wanted,  but  love.  If  he 
had  been  willing  to  renounce  her  so  coldly  she 
could  never  follow  him  for  a  mere  technical  justifi- 
cation. He  was  safe  from  her  wrath,  and  as  for  her 
scorn,  how  could  it  affect  so  brazen  a  heart  as  his  ? 

The  body  of  her  mother  was  put  for  the  present 
in  the  tomb,  as  Alma  begged  her  father  not  to  return 
yet  to  his  home.  She  said  it  would  seem  desolate 
there,  now  that  the  dear  voice  would  never  be  heard 
again  within  its  walls,  and  he  yielded  to  the  send- 
ment.  One  day  Mary  Carson,  who  had  returned  to 
Jefferson  to  take  charge  of  things,  sent  Alma,  enclosed 
in  one  of  hers^  a  letter  from  Gerald.  Mr.  Adams 
opened  it  by  the  purest  mistake,  for  he  would  not 
have  stooped  to  touch  his  child's  correspondence 


fit  HI  OAESTON    BIGAMY, 

intentionally,  and  was  startled  to  find  that  it  enclosed 
a  brief  note  from  the  young  man  with  whom  he  had 
supposed  her  acquaintance  ended.  Feeling  justified 
now  in  seeing  what  he  had  to  say,  he  read  it 
through  : 

"  My  darling,"  ran  the  letter,  *  after  many  days  of 
illness  I  am  permitted  to  go  out  again,  though  I  am 
Still  very  weak.  My  first  trip  was  to  the  cottage 
where  I  hoped  to  find  you,  but  it  was  locked  and  wore 
a  deserted  appearance.  I  shall  send  this  by  a  trusty 
messenger  to  Mary,  knowing  that  she  will  see  that  it 
gets  to  you.  Tell  me  that  I  still  have  your  love  and 
that  you  will  meet  me  as  soon  as  I  am  able  to  see 
you.  My  father  watches  me  closely,  under  pretence 
that  the  doctor  orders  me  to  be  kept  free  of  excite- 
ment, and  I  shall  have  to  elude  him  as  best  I  can.  I 
am  too  tired  to  write  more,  but  I  shall  see  you  soon 
and  then  all  will  be  well. 

«  Yours  till  death, 

"  GERALD." 

Mr.  Adams  put  the  letter  into  his  pocket.  He  had 
no  idea  of  giving  it  to  Alma.  He  was  sorry  to  learn 
that  Gerald  still  pretended  to  claim  his  daughter, 
but  there  was  nothing  in  the  note  to  show  that  she 
encouraged  him.  It  was  much  wiser  to  keep  it  from 
her — very  much  wiser. 

"  Father,"  she  said  to  him,  soon  after,  "  I  do  not 
want  to  go  home  again  for  a  very  long  time.  It 
teems  as  if  I  could  not  bear  it  there.  I  am  not  well. 
I  want  to  take  a  long  journey  somewhere,  and  see  if 
it  does  not  help  me." 

"How  would  you  like  to  cross  the  ocean?"  he 


"x  TBime  I  OOTTLB  MIA  mm  f*  281 

asked,  looking  at  her  tenderly.  "  I  heard  yesterday 
of  a  lady  who  wanted  one  more  to  complete  a  party 
that  she  is  to  chaperone." 

**  I  should  like  it,"  she  answered,  eagerly.     a  Yes, 
that  is  it — I  want  to  go  faraway." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

"  I   THINK   I   COULD   KILL   HIM  ! " 

When  Mary  Carson  started  for  home,  leaving 
the  Adamses  in  New  York,  Alma  gave  her  this  part- 
ing injunction  :  "  Write  me  nothing  about  matters  in 
Jefferson  outside  of  our  own  family  affairs."  Mary 
did  not  think  this  enough  to  warrant  her  in  suppress- 
ing or  returning  the  letter  which  Gerald  sent,  and 
the  contents  of  which  she  had  no  means  of  knowing. 
She  was  aware  that  something  had  occurred  between 
him  and  her  young  mistress,  but  Alma  had  refused 
positively  to  discuss  the  causes  that  had  led  to  their 
separation.  The  whole  truth,  or  any  part  of  it 
even,  she  never  suspected.  It  was  common  gossip 
in  Jefferson  when  she  reached  there,  and  she  heard  it 
from  the  other  servants,  that  Gerald  had  been  very 
ill,  and  that  Colonel  Staples'  carriage,  with  Edith 
as  one  of  its  occupants,  had  been  driven  each  day 
to  the  Garston  farm.  Nothing  less  than  an  under- 
stood engagement  could  explain  this,  though  the 
Stapleses  were  reticent  and  gave  no  satisfaction  to 
those  who  tried  to  "  pump  "  them  on  the  subject 


882  TMX   GARSTON    JSIOAMT. 

Mary  was  greatly  grieved  at  the  turn  affairs  had 
taken,  as  she  knew  that  Alma  had  suffered  intense 
distress  about  it.  She  had  never  ceased  to  think 
that  they  were  a  couple  that  nature  had  designed 
for  each  other,  but  if  men  were  so  fickle  before  mar- 
riage,  perhaps  it  was  best.  Mary  thought  on  this 
so  seriously  that  she  turned  an  unusually  cold 
fihoulder  upon  a  thriving  young  mechanic  of  the 
village  who  had  been  more  or  less  encouraged  in 
his  suit  for  her  own  hand.  At  which  the  young 
man  in  question  waxed  melancholy,  and  began  to 
contemplate  the  various  methods  of  suicide. 

Clifford  Nelson,  at  the  Jefferson  House,  was  al3o 
in  anything  but  a  happy  frame  of  mind.  His  love 
for  Gerald  had  given  way  to  a  pronounced  sense  of 
injury,  and  even  the  reports  of  the  precarious  con- 
dition of  the  young  man  found  in  him  but  little  if 
any  regret. 

The  fortune  that  he  had  inherited  made  it  easy 
for  him  to  do  without  the  profession  that  he  had  in- 
tended to  follow,  and  he  wrote  to  the  Chicago  firm 
with  whom  he  had  been  studying  that  he  could  not 
tell  when,  if  at  all,  they  would  see  him  again  in  their 
office.  He  said  he  was  not  feeling  as  well  as  he 
should  like,  and  wanted  a  rest.  As  this  tallied  very 
closely  with  a  letter  they  had  received  from  Mr. 
Garston,  describing  Gerald's  case,  the  lawyers  be- 
gan to  wonder  what  there  could  be  in  the  atmos- 
phere in  Jefferson  that  had  such  a  precisely  similar 
effect  on  the  two  young  gentlemen.  And  they  spec- 
ulated shrewdly  among  themselves  whether  the 
handsome  young  ladies,  with  whom  they  had  some- 
times met  their  students,  had  anything  to  do  with 
tke  matter. 


"l  THINK    I   COTTLB   KILL   HIM  I**  283 

Nelson  stayed  in  Jefferson  until  he  could  no  longer 
doubt  that  the  engagement  of  Gerald  and  Edith 
was  a  fixed  fact.  The  Jefferson  County  Eagle,  with 
the  enterprise  for  which  that  paper  was  famous,  an- 
nounced it  under  the  head  of  "  Society  Notes." 
The  hotel  boarders  discussed  it  at  dinner.  The 
crowd  at  the  post-office  made  it  the  theme  cf  their 
evening's  gossip,  and  those  who  disliked  Adams — 
always  a  respectably  large  minority — did  not  at- 
tempt to  conceal  their  pleasure.  Colonel  Staples 
walked  or  rode  through  the  town  with  a  wise  air, 
and  Edith's  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles  in  place  of 
the  troubled  look  that  had  been  seen  there  so  fre- 
quently a  few  weeks  before.  People  took  courage 
to  ask  her  how  Gerald  was,  now  that  all  could  see 
the  openness  with  which  she  visited  him,  and  she 
told  them  without  hesitation  that  he  was  getting 
better  rapidly  and  would  soon  be  out  again.  Some 
of  the  more  courageous  asked  if  she  had  heard  any- 
thing recently  from  Alma,  and,  with  something  of 
the  sad  look  returning,  she  announced  that  she  had 
received  but  one  letter,  a  brief  answer  to  her  condo- 
lences. 

"She  must  be  sadly  hurt,  poor  girl,"  she  said, 
softly,  to  one  lady  whom  she  thought  an  especial 
friend.  "  She  was  very  fond  of  her  mother,  as  she 
deserved  to  be,  and  I  fear  it  will  be  long  before  she 
recovers  from  the  shock.  She  does  not  mean  to 
come  home  at  present.  Her  father  wants  her  to 
travel  and  divert  her  mind." 

Armed  with  this  definite  news  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion began  to  make  herself  a  person  of  consequence 
by  disseminating  it  right  and  left  in  the  village,  and 
before  night  it  reached  the  ears  of  Clifford  Nelson. 


2S4  TBX   •AB8TOW 

He  did  not  wish  to  meet  Gerald  when  he  became 
able  to  be  about  again,  for  he  feared  that  his  pa- 
tience would  give  way  at  sight  of  him — that  he  should 
forget  that  it  was  an  invalid  with  whom  he  had  to 
deal.  He  packed  his  trunk,  took  the  train  for  Buf- 
falo, and  after  passing  a  few  days  there,  made  a 
sudden  decision  to  cross  the  Atlantic  and  see  if  he 
could  not  find,  somewhere  on  the  other  side,  relief 
from  the  distress  that  he  was  experiencing. 

Nelson  had  no  notion  of  dying  of  unrequited  love. 
He  was  much  too  healthy  a  young  man  to  entertain 
any  such  idea  as  that.  But  he  had  suffered  a  good 
deal  of  late,  and  he  did  not  feel  like  studying.  He 
wanted  a  complete  change  of  scene,  and  having  the 
means  to  obtain  it,  and  nothing  to  prevent,  he  saw 
no  reason  [why  he  should  hesitate  to  follow  his  in-< 
clination. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  London  when,  one  morn- 
ing, happening  to  glance  over  the  list  of  American 
arrivals,  he  found  the  name  of  "Miss  Alma  Adams" 
in  that  of  a  party  headed  by  "  Mrs.  Gustave  Lenoir." 
At  first  he  thought  the  similarity  in  name  a  mere 
coincidence,  but  as  there  was  a  possibility  that  it  wag 
the  Alma  of  his  acquaintance,  he  went  to  the  address 
given.  He  sent  his  card  to  Mrs.  Lenoir,  and  ex- 
plained the  object  of  his  visit.  From  her  he  learned 
that  he  had  not  come  in  vain,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  Miss  Adams  made  her  appearance. 

Alma  was  more  than  pleased  to  see  him.  She  had 
been  suffering  from  a  severe  attack  of  homesickness, 
that  trouble  which  often  comes  during  the  first  days 
that  one  spends  on  foreign  soil,  and  it  was  comfort- 
ing to  meet  any  one  whom  she  had  ever  seen  in  dear 
America.  More  than  this  she  had  the  greatest  respect 


"l  THIN*  I  COULD  KILL  HUCl"  88* 

for  Clifford,  and  even  in  her  unhappy  condition  ot 
mind  she  had  no  reason  to  avoid  him.  Their  first 
conversation  was  upon  the  voyage  they  had  both 
taken,  and  upon  the  sights  they  had  thus  far  seen. 

"  I  trust  you  left  your  father  well,"  he  ventured , 
finally. 

"Yes,  except  for  his  great  depression  of  spirits. 
You,"  she  indicated  her  garments  to  explain  what 
she  did  not  like  to  put  into  speech,  "you  have 
heard — " 

He  bowed  with  an  air  of  grave  sympathy. 

"Do  you  intend  to  remain  in  Europe  long?** 

"I  have  no  settled  plan." 

She  reddened  as  she  said  it,  for  it  seemed  as  if  he 
could  read  her  thoughts. 

"Although  I  have  joined  Mrs.  Lenoir's  party,  I  do 
not  mean  to  remain  with  it  beyond  a — a  certain 
time." 

"Then  you  will  return  this  winter,  perhaps?** 

"  No,  that  is  not  certain." 

She  seemed  so  confused  that  he  hastened  to  relieve 
her,  by  saying  that  he  supposed  her  plans  were  like 
those  of  other  travellers — dependant  on  circum- 
stances. He  asked,  however,  that  he  might  have  the 
privilege  of  calling  upon  her  occasionally  while  she 
remained  in  London,  and  of  escorting  her  to  some 
cf  the  places  of  interest.  He  was  very  courteous 
about  it,  and  she  readily  responded  that  she  should 
be  glad  to  have  him  do  so. 

"You  have  been  through  a  great  deal  of  unhappi- 
ness,"  he  said,  "and  your  best  way  now  is  to  vary 
your  life  all  you  can.  I,  too,  have  received  a  blow, 
harder  perhaps  than  you  think.  Although  you  mu$t 
have  known  that  I  cared  very  much  for  her  I  kept 


886  THE   GARSTOJN 


my  sentiments  closely  hidden,  and  I  believe  thelt 
real  depth  was  never  suspected  by  you  any  more 
than  by  Miss  Staples.  When  I  read  in  the  Eagle 
that  she  —  that  they  —  were  soon  to  be  married  —  " 

He  stopped,  alarmed.  Alma  had  sunk  back  in  h» 
chair  as  if  every  particle  of  strength  had  left  hei 
He  sprang  up,  saying  that  he  would  ring  hnmed* 
ately  for  assistance. 

"No,"  she  replied,  in  so  faint  a  voice  that  he  could 
hardly  hear  her.  "  It  is  nothing,  I  am  quite  recov- 
ered." 

"  I  regret,"  said  he,  "  that  I  alluded  at  all  to  a  sub- 
ject which  could  not  fail  to  be  painful.  In  thinking 
of  my  own  sorrow  I  did  not  take  other  things  suffi- 
ciently into  account.  But  surely,  I  have  brought  you 
no  news  ?  " 

She  struggled  with  her  emotions  for  a  moment 
before  she  answered. 

"  He  is  to  marry  Edith,  you  say  ?" 

"  I  cannot  doubt  it.  Not  only  the  Eagle,  but  com- 
mon report  says  so.  When  I  came  away  he  was  ill, 
and  she  visited  at  his  house  daily,  You  loved  her," 
he  added,  gently. 

She  looked  up  at  him  mournfully. 

"Loved  'her?  Loved  Edie?  I  love  her  still.  I  shall 
write  to  her,  sending  my  "  —  how  ghastly  she  grew— 
"my  congratulations.  But  I  did  not  know,  Mr.  Nel- 
son, that  you  cared  for  her.  No,  I  never  guessed 
that." 

"Did  you  not?  Then  I  succeeded  in  what  I  tried 
to  do.  So  long  as  there  was  the  least  possibility 
that  Gerald  wanted  to  win  her,  I  knew  it  would  J  — 
useless  to  speak." 

She  contracted  her  brows  in  puzzled  pain. 


I   COULD    KILL   HIM!"  38T 


**But  —  it  must  have  been  something  very  recent,* 
*he  said.  "  You  had  no  fear  of  his  rivalry  when—- 
when we  were  at  school,  and  —  after  we  came  home." 

He  wondered  what  he  ought  to  say  to  her. 

"  Gerald  knew  you  both  so  long  before  I  did  that 
I  seemed  to  find  no  place  ready  for  me.  That  made 
me  keep  silence." 

He  looked  at  Alma  for  a  moment,  and  then  hi» 
wrongs  overcame  him. 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  wicked  shame  !"  he  cried.  "  Hardly 
six  weeks  ago  I  met  him  in  the  wood  one  night  and 
he  told  me,  with  every  appearance  of  earnestness, 
that  he  cared  for  but  one  woman  in  the  world,  and 
4iat  was—  -you  !  " 

Her  breath  came  in  short  gasps,  tuid  her  counten- 
ance brightened. 

"  Yes  —  yes  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  It  is  his  father  who  has  influenced  him,"  continued 
Nelson.  "  She  loves  him,  too.  They  have  sur- 
rounded him  with  their  toils." 

She  leaned  toward  him,  confidentially. 

"  I  must  tell  you  something,  Mr.  Nelson,  that  you 
may  understand  the  cruelty  of  my  position.  We 
were  engaged  —  as  honestly  engaged  as  any  couple 
could  be.  Why,  I  had  even,  in  response  to  his  re- 
peated importunities,  consented  that  we  should  have 
a  secret  marriage,  lest  our  parents  should  interfere 
and  tear  us  apart.  He  had  spoken  to  a  justice  of 
the  peace  named  Moseley,  who  lives  in  Lin  wood,  and 
on  the  very  next  day  after  I  last  saw  Gerald  we 
were  to  be  united.  He  left  me  as  happy  and  appar- 
ently as  true  as  you  could  imagine,  and  from  that 
day  X  have  never  had  a  letter  from  him,  nor  any 
woix\  whatever  l" 


$88  THS  GAW5TOBT  1UOAJTT. 

"London  is  net  agreeing  with  Mi«s  Adams/*  he 
•aid  to  Mrs.  Lenoir,  some  days  later.  "  How  much 
longer  do  you  intend  to  remain  here  with  your 
party  ?" 

"That  is  undecided,"  she  answered.  "We  expect 
to  go  to  the  Riviera  in  Jo  uiry,  but  I  do  not  know 
how  much  earlier  we  shall  leave  London.  I  think 
her  only  trouble  is  that  she  has  overdone.  If  you 
will  be  content,  Mr.  Nelson,  to  spend  your  afternoons 
at  the  hotel  instead  of  in  cabs  and  galleries,  you 
will  find  her  much  better  soon,  I  am  sure." 

He  blushed  at  the  imputation  that  he  could  thus 
easily  control  her  movements. 

"  I  hope  you  are  right,"  he  said,  "  and  that  all  she 
wants  is  rest.  I  shall  certainly  encourage  her  to 
take  it  to  the  fullest  extent.  But  I  am  afraid  that 
she  needs  the  fair  skies  of  the  South  of  France,  and 
that  the  London  fogs  are  ruining  her  naturally  happy 
disposition." 

Mrs.  Lenoir  looked  at  him  archly.  She  had  re- 
cently received  word  by  mail  to  encourage  him  in 
every  way. 

He  went  back  to  Alma  and  found  her  so  white 
that  he  was  intensely  alarmed. 

"  This  town  is  destroying  you  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"It  is  only  a  temporary  affair,"  replied  Alma, 
though  the  pain  in  her  face  did  not  bear  ou:  the 
Statement.  "  I  shall  be  better — soon." 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked,  kindly.  "  Tell 
me." 

She  started  at  the  unexpected  question. 

"He  is  here,  in  London  — with  her,''  she  articulated, 
slowly,  her  eyes  growing  stony  as  she  spoke.  "  I  saw 
the  names  in  the  Register.  He  will  marry  her.  I 


Ml  THESTK  i  OOULD  KILL  sotT  9B9 

expect  it.  Dear,  dear  Edie  !  I  can  not  even  throw 
my  poor  arms  about  her  neck  and  breathe  the  wish 
I  have — God  knows  I  have  it ! — that  she  will  be  hap- 
py.  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  see  her.  It  is  useless 
to  deny  it  to  you.  I  love  him  at  this  moment  as 
much  as  I  ever  did  !  Could  I  ask  a  great  favor  of 
you— one  which  I  can  ask  of  no  one  else — one  that  I 
would  not  think  of  asking  did  I  not  believe  in  the 
nobleness  and  unselfishness  of  your  nature?" 

He  trembled  with  apprehension,  but  he  said  she 
could  ask  him  what  she  wished  and  he  would  pledge 
himself  in  advance  to  do  it. 

*  You  say  I  am  ill,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause. 
**It  is  true.  There  is  no  need  of  calling  a  physician, 
for  I  am  not  possessed  of  any  malady  that  he  could 
cure.  In  a  week  from  to-day  I  shall  be  better— or  I 
•hall  be  dead.  Yes,  I  dreamed  of  it  last  night — it 
will  be  one  or  the  other.  Now  what  I  ask  of  you—- 
and I  know  how  much  it  is  to  ask — is  this.  If  I  do 
die,  go  to  Gerald."  The  sobs  came  again  and  nearly 
choked  her  utterance.  "Go  to  him  and  tell  him 
where  I  lie,  in — in  my  casket.  Ask  him — to— come 
to  me — just  for  a  minute.  It  will  be  no  wrong  to 
her — I  shall  be  dead.  And — no  matter  what  you 
may  think — don't  blame  him — don't  do  anything  to 
take  away  the  chance  of  happiness  that  he  will  have 
With  her." 

She  left  the  room  abruptly,  unable  to  say  another 
word,  and  he  sought  Mrs.  Lenoir  with  a  gloomy 
countenance. 

44  Miss  Adams  is  hysterical  to-night,"  he  said.  *  Sin 
needs  extra  care.  You  must  not  leave  her  alone." 

"  I  think  I  could  kill  him  ! "  he  added  mentally,  as 
fee  went  down  the  steps  of  the  house  into  the  at  feet. 


THE   GAKSTON   BIGhUCT. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

ON  THE  WAV  TO  LONDON. 

The  visits  of  Edith  Staples  to  the  bedside  of  Ger- 
ald Garston  added  to  the  confusion  of  mind  into 
which  he  had  been  thrown  by  the  extraordinary 
events  of  the  previous  few  days.  Weak  from  the  ill- 
ness which  had  been  coming  on  for  some  time,  more 
or  less  under  the  influence  of  the  opiate  which  his 
father  persisted  in  giving  him  in  minute  quantities, 
notwithstanding  the  warning  of  Dr.  Pease,  and  con- 
scious that  he  had  not  treated  Edith  well,  Gerald 
accepted  her  ministrations,  with  few  words  beyond 
those  of  thankfulness.  Whenever  he  had  strength 
enough  to  form  consecutive  impressions  his  mind 
turned  to  Alma,  who  must,  he  thought,  be  anxious 
about  him,  and  to  whom  he  would  gladly,  had  there 
been  any  feasible  way,  have  sent  some  message  tes- 
tifying the  still  unchanged  character  of  his  affection. 
One  day  it  even  occurred  to  him  to  ask  Edith  to 
carry  this  word  to  her,  and  then  it  came  upon  him 
like  a  tornado  that  he  had  the  double  task  of  reliev- 
ing the  distress  of  Alma  and  soothing  the  injured 
feelings  of  his  new  nurse.  He  saw  that  he  was  in 
danger  of  doing  something  foolish  if  he  attempted 
anything  in  his  feeble  condition,  and  he  desisted 
from  forming  plans,  preferring  to  wait  until  he  could 
be  about  and  decide  with  the  full  use  of  unhan 
pered  intelligence. 

It  was  on  the  second  day  that  he  was  able  to  wa'.i? 
out  of  doors,  that  he  took  his  way  to  the  summer 


Off   TOT    WAT    TO   LOTH**.  901 

house,  In  the  hope  to  find  Alma  where  he  had  left 
her.  His  father  knew  well  that  this  would  probably 
be  his  move,  and  knowing  that  the  cottage  was 
locked  he  did  not  try  to  stop  him  in  this  useless 
journey.  Gerald  crept  weakly  through  the  path  in 
the  wood,  and  tried  the  gate,  which  was  securely 
fastened.  He  went  to  the  nearest  point  at  which  the 
house  approached  the  fence  and  called  "Alma"  in  a 
low  tone.  Then,  when  nothing  but  the  echo  of  his 
own  voice  answered  him,  he  turned  wearily  away, 
and  started  for  his  home,  reaching  there  greatly 
fatigued  in  body  and  discouraged  in  mind.  The  ex- 
ertion compelled  him  to  remain  in-doors  for  several 
days.  As  soon  as  he  could  bear  the  strain  he  obtained 
writing  utensils  and  indited  the  letter  which  Mary 
Carson  afterwards  sent  to  Alma,  and  which  her 
father  intercepted.  It  was  easy  to  get  this  to  the  post- 
office,  for  the  farm  hands  had  no  orders  in  relation 
to  his  correspondence,  and  his  father  did  not  know 
or  suspect  what  he  was  doing.  But  when  a  week 
passed  and  no  reply  was  received,  Gerald  began  to 
experience  the  greatest  uneasiness.  Dr.  Pease  de- 
clared that  something  must  be  done  to  calm  his  mind 
or  he  would  fall  into  a  brain  fever,  with  possibly 
dangerous  results. 

"  He  needs  a  change  of  scene,"  said  the  physician. 
"  As  soon  as  he  is  able  to  travel  he  ought  to  be  taken 
away  from  here.** 

The  Jefferson  County  Eagle  contained  a  long 
article  upon  the  death  of  Mrs.  Adams,  reciting  in  the 
true  country  manner  the  virtues  and  high  character 
of  the  deceased.  The  paper  containing  this,  which 
at  the  same  time  stated  that  Miss  Alma  had  gone 
to  »he  East  and  would  remain  there  some  time,  was 


placed  purposely  where  it  could  not  help  aelng  semi 
by  Gerald.  He  was  much  shocked  by  the  news,  but 
experienced  a  sort  of  comfort  in  it,  as  it  explained 
to  a  certain  extent  the  absence  of  any  reply  to  his 
letter.  He  had  no  doubt  that  as  soon  as  the  first 
flush  of  her  grief  was  over,  Alma  would  write,  and 
he  tried  to  content  himself  to  wait  But  the  courage 
which  he  acquired  was  not  to  be  of  long  duration, 
for  in  a  subsequent  number  of  the  same  journal  he 
found  an  item  stating  that  she  had  gone  abroad  to 
finish  her  education,  and  would  not  return,  probably^ 
for  a  number  of  years. 

The  paragraph  giving  this  information  was  partly 
the  result  of  ingenious  surmise  on  the  part  of  the 
reporter  of  the  Eagle,  but  its  effect  on  Gerald  was 
most  pronounced.  At  first  it  paralyzed  him,  and 
then  it  aroused  his  fury.  He  cocad  see  nothing  but 
that  Alma  had  deserted  him  when  he  was  help- 
less from  illness,  without  even  the  formality  of  a 
written  or  spoken  word.  "  Gone  abroad  to  remain 
for  years  !"  Was  ever  anything  so  thoroughly  heart- 
less ?  Could  this  be  the  Almahe  had  known  ?  Had 
his  brain,  reeling  under  the  effect  of  illness,  played 
him  a  trick  ?  Were  all  those  sweet  memories  mere 
illusions  of  a  distempered  imagination  ? 

He  tried  to  think.  Had  she  not  lain  in  his  arms, 
with  her  lips  to  his,  and  her  hair  wound  around  his 
eyes  that  he  might  not  see  the  blushes  that  dyed  her 
cheek  a  deeper  color  than  carmine  ?  Had  her  form, 
pulsating  with  youth,  never  been  clasped  to  his 
heart?  Had  she  never  whispered  responses  to  hi» 
glowing  declarations,  and  had  they  never  sworn  to 
each  other  that  life  itself  should  be  too  short  U» 
prove  their  constancy  ? 


0V  THB  WAT  TO   LONDON.  893 

When  was  this  ?  A  month  ago  by  the  calendar. 
A  century,  by  the  suffering  that  the  separation  had 
given  him. 

Could  he  be  mistaken  ?  Was  it  not  true  that  she 
had  urged  that  he  hasten  the  day  when  she  might 
vow  her  life  to  him  ?  Had  he  never  arranged  with 
Moseley  to  come  and  satisfy  the  demands  of  custom  ? 
It  was  all  as  clear  to  him  as  the  sun  shining  there  in 
the  sky.  He  had  agreed  with  the  official  to  meet 
him  and  he  had  told  Alma  that  the  day  was  set. 
What  then  ?  Why — yes — he  had  met  his  father  in 
the  wood,  and — after  that  came  unconsciousness. 
Alma  had  waited  for  him  and  the  justice,  and  when 
he  did  not  arrive  she  had  shown  the  slenderness  of 
her  love  by  suspecting  him  of  untruth.  The  death 
of  her  mother  had  taken  her  to  New  York,  and  after- 
ward, hearing  nothing  from  him — taking  it  for 
granted  that  he  had  deserted  her — she  had  conclud- 
ed to  go  abroad. 

What  a  specimen  of  the  fickleness  of  woman  ! 
There  could  have  been  nothing  like  the  passion 
which  animated  him  in  her  breast  or  she  would  never 
have  jumped  at  conclusions  in  such  a  reckless  man- 
ner. Thus  the  bitter  reflections  surged  through  his 
brain,  for  hours  after  he  read  this  paragraph,  and  he 
saw  no  ray  of  comfort  anywhere  on  the  horizon. 

When  one  has  nothing  to  do  but  think,  and  think, 
and  think,  one's  mind  is  apt  to  lead  him  astray. 
When  one  is  rising  from  a  sick  bed  one's  brain  is 
easily  persuaded  of  whatever  appears  on  the  surface 
of  things.  Gerald  passed  through  agonies  of  regret 
for  the  girl  he  had  lost,  agonies  of  remorse  for  the 
wrong  he  had  done  her,  and  agonies  of  vindictive 
rage  for  the  cold  way  in  which  she  had  taken  her- 


994  THK   G  ARSTOT*    BIGAMT. 

self  out  of  his  reach.  His  self-love,  his  conscience, 
his  desire  for  her  presence,  dominated  him  one  after 
the  other,  each  taking  its  turn,  until  he  did  not 
know  what  he  thought  or  what  he  wanted. 

Out  of  the  chaos  only  one  thing  loomed  clear  on 
his  vision.  Alma  had  gone  and  Edith  remained. 

Gentle  Edith !  Sweet,  tender,  patient  Edith  3 
Not  a  word  of  love  had  passed  between  them  during 
these  days  when  she  had  come  to  cheer  his  loneli- 
ness, bringing  that  one  ray  of  light  into  his  life,  now 
tied  to  such  narrow  limits.  What  could  he  do  to 
reward  such  sweet  devotion  ?  Ought  he  to  permit 
it  to  go  on  ?  He  had  no  strength  to  solve  this  prob- 
lem. It  pleased  his  father  to  have  her  there,  and 
the  bright  smile  on  her  countenance  as  she  entered 
his  room  showed  that  it  gave  her  pleasure  to  come 

Alma  had  gone  and  Edith  remained.  He  could 
remember  when  he  had  told  Cliff  Nelson  that  he  did 
not  know  which  one  of  them  he  loved  best.  He 
looked  back  now  on  his  mad  infatuation  with  Alma, 
when  he  had  dared  everything  to  be  by  her  side. 
Had  he  chosen  Edith  his  path  would  have  been  as 
smooth  as  a  sea  of  summer.  Why  had  his  fancy  en- 
veloped the  other  with  all  glories,  till  he  could  see 
nothing  in  this  girl,  who  had  loved  and  still  loved 
him  with  a  flame  that  no  wind  of  circumstance  could 
lessen  ? 

Then  he  went  back  again  in  memory  to  those 
evenings  in  the  summer-house.  What  right  had 
Alma  to  lift  him  to  heaven  and  then  drop  him  into 
the  depths  of  hell !  He  wanted  to  see  her  once 
more  and  discover  what  had  wrought  this  awful 
change.  But  the  thought  of  being  again  in  her 
presence  threw  him  into  another  fr.-er.  He  did  not 


OK   THB  WAY  TO  LOOTXWf.  205 

know  whether  he  should  smother  her  with  Ws»es— 
willing  or  unwilling — or  drive  a  knife  into  that  now 
false  heart,  that  had  beaten  responsive  to  his 
through  the  fair  breast  that  intoxicated  him. 

Colonel  Staples  and  Mr.  Garston  were  mucft 
pleased  when,  upon  approaching  the  subject  deli- 
cately to  him,  they  found  that  he  was  quite  willing 
to  take  a  journey  to  the  Old  World.  Garston  said 
he  should  go,  too,  as  he  had  always  wanted  to  see 
Europe  and  the  season  of  winter  was  the  only 
one  he  could  well  spare  for  that  purpose.  Edith 
was  to  accompany  her  father,  and  Gerald  under- 
stood that  this  was  decided  upon  wholly  without 
reference  to  himself.  On  the  whole  he  was  glad 
she  was  going.  He  dreamed  that  it  would  be  pos- 
sible, in  those  quiet  days  that  they  would  pass  on 
the  sea,  to  have  tbe  honest  talk  with  her  that  he  had 
meant  to  have  for  months  past.  For  there  was  no 
moment  during  this  time  that  Gerald  viewed  Edith 
as  a  possibility  in  marriage.  That  might  have  been 
once,  but  now  their  paths  had  diverged.  It  was  too 
late  to  change  things.  He  had  been  too  far  on  the 
other  road  ever  to  return. 

The  voyage  was  uneventful.  Day  after  day  Ger- 
ald sat  with  Edith  on  the  deck,  where  their  fathers 
left  them  to  themselves  with  undisguised  approba- 
tion. Gerald  acquired  physical  strength,  but  the 
courage  that  he  hoped  for  to  tell  Edith  that  he  had 
loved  and  lost  and  never  could  love  again — to  teli 
her  this  in  the  delicate  way  that  he  felt  was  her  due 
— did  not  come  to  him.  There  was  something  dis- 
honorable in  allowing  her  to  go  on  under  the  belief 
that  things  were  different,  but  try  as  he  might  he 
was  unable  to  set  her  right. 


994  THB  GABSTON  BIGA1CT. 

John  Garston  had  many  talks  with  flic  Colonel, 
the  burden  ol  which  was  that  all  that  was  needed 
was  a  little  time. 

"The  boy  has  been  very  sick,  you  know,"  he  said. 
u  He  will  recover  rapidly  over  here.  They  will  be 
thrown  constantly  together,  and  only  one  result  can 
follow." 

"  Do  you  think  he  has  entirely  gotten  over  his 
feelings  toward  Alma?"  asked  the  Colonel, 
nervously. 

"Entirely.  Have  no  fear.  You  will  return  to 
America  with  a  wedding  party." 

"  Alma  is  in  Europe  somewhere,  you  know.** 

**  Yes,  with  a  chaperone  who  will  take  good  care 
that  she  does  not  get  out  of  her  sight.  I  know 
Adams.  He  never  sent  her  here  without  full  instruc- 
tions to  meet  every  case.  He  has  been  as  fearful 
that  there  should  be  anything  between  them,  since 
that  day  of  the  auction,  as  he  was  anxious  for  it 
before." 

When  a  man  is  desirous  of  being  convinced  it  does 
not  take  much  to  convince  him,  and  the  worthy 
Colonel  found  his  fears  for  his  daughter's  happiness 
giving  way  to  rose-colored  expectations,  as  he  noted 
the  confidence  of  his  companion. 

They  leit  the  steamer  at  Queenstown,  took  the 
usual  short  run  through  Ireland,  crossed  to  Scot- 
land, where  they  spent  a  fortnight,  and  then,  by 
easy  stages,  stopping  at  many  places  of  interest, 
came  to  tno  world's  metropolis. 


A  CRY  FOB  HKUP.  1 

CHAPTER  XXXL 

A  CRY  FOR  HELP. 

Gerald  had  not  been  twenty-four  hours  in  London 
before  he  began  to  realize  that  he  was  practically 
under  guardianship.  He  occupied  the  peculiar 
position  of  being  in  a  foreign  land  with  hardly  a 
dollar  in  his  pocket  and  with  watchful  eyes  follow- 
ing his  every  movement.  It  was  no  part  of  the 
purpose  of  his  father  that  he  should  be  able  to  take 
journeys  of  his  own  in  any  direction  that  he  might 
fancy,  and  his  purse  had  been  carefully  restricted 
with  that  end  in  view.  Under  the  pretence  that 
funds  had  not  arrived,  John  Garston  gave  his  son 
only  the  smallest  sums,  and  Gerald's  pride  prevented 
him  from  asking  the  only  other  person  in  the  party 
to  whom  he  could  have  applied — Edith's  father — for 
anything. 

London  meant  to  the  young  man  more  than  all 
else  the  place  where  Alma  had  undoubtedly  been — 
perhaps  where  she  still  was — and  the  fever  that 
had  smouldered  in  his  veins  grew  hotter  as  time 
passed  on.  They  might  surround  him  with  all  the 
barriers  they  pleased,  but  he  resolved  that  it  should 
avail  them  nothing.  If  he  could  not  find  the  one 
he  loved,  at  least  they  should  not  make  him  wed 
another.  He  had  never  really  recovered  from  his 
illness.  Mr.  Garston  continued  to  supply  him  with 
opiates  disguised  in  his  medicine.  Generally  he 
wore  an  appearance  of  extreme  melancholy.  Edith 
was  much  troubled  by  this,  and  appealed  to  her 


298  THE    GAR8TON    BIGAMT. 

father  to  know  if  something  could  not  be  suggested 
to  turn  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 

M I  never  saw  Gerald  so  unhappy,"  she  said. 
"  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  he  did  not  care  for  me.  I 
would  rather  die  than,marry  him  if  I  thought  that. 
The  voyage  does  not  seem  to  have  done  him  much 
good  thus  far." 

The  colonel  was  all  this  time  in  a  quandary.  He 
had  given  out  to  the  reporter  of  the  Eagle  that  his 
daughter  and  Gerald  were  engaged,  and  that  they 
would  probably  return  from  Europe  man  and  wife. 
All  Jefferson  expected  this,  and  if  it  did  not  occur 
there  would  be  a  suspicion  that  Edith  had  been  jilted. 
Garston  was  constantly  at  his  elbow,  ready  to  meet 
any  doubt,  and  the  Colonel  was  more  than  willing 
to  be  convinced. 

"  Don't  be  in  haste,  and  all  will  be  well,"  said 
Garston,  repeatedly.  "  All  he  wants  is  a  little  more 
time." 

It  takes  something  more  than  common  espionage  to 
control  the  every  movement  of  a  young  man  of 
twenty-three,  even  under  the  disadvantageous  con- 
ditions of  a  case  like  the  one  in  question.  Gerald 
found  by  a  newspaper  that  he  picked  up  at  the  hotel 
that  Clifford  Nelson  was  at  the  Victoria.  Little  as 
he  had  cause  to  hope  for  help  from  him,  it  was  a 
straw  worth  catching  at  in  his  helpless  dilemma,  and 
he  smuggled  a  note  to  the  address,  stating  his  posi- 
tion, and  begging  Cliff,  for  the  sake  of  old  times,  to 
come  to  his  rescue. 

"  I  am  still  suffering  from  the  effects  of  the  long 
illness  I  have  had,"  he  wrote,  "  and  though  they  give 
me  medicine  constantly  it  does  me  no  good.  I  feel 
that  it  is  too  late  for  me  to  hope  to  regain  the  lov« 


A  CRT  FOE  HELP.  299 

of  Alma,  and  I  shall  try  to  reconcile  myself  to  its 
loss  ;  but  this  steady  pressure  toward  another  alli- 
ance is  wearing  me  out.  I  fear  that  some  day  I  shall 
yield,  and  then  there  will  be  a  future  of  misery  for 
both  myself  and  Edith.  I  have  not  a  dollar  that  I 
can  call  my  own.  If  I  had  enough  to  take  me  back  to 
America  I  would  fly  from  this  danger,  and  once  there 
I  would  take  care  that  they  never  got  me  again  into 
their  power.  You  hate  me  for  the  vacillation  of 
which  I  was  guilty,  but  you  can  afford  to  be  magnan- 
imous, now  that  I  have  lost  the  only  thing  I  care  for. 
If  I  have  done  wrong — and  Heaven  knows  how  dearly 
I  regret  my  conduct — my  punishment  is  already 
severe  enough.  If  you  can  send  me  twenty  pounds, 
which  I  will  repay  as  soon  as  I  can  earn  it,  you  may 
save  two  people  from  a  lifetime  of  unhappiness." 

The  messenger  who  took  this  note  reported  that 
Mr.  Nelson  had  left  the  Victoria  and  gone  to  live  at 
some  other  hotel,  and  that  the  clerks  would  forward 
the  letter  to  his  new  address  as  soon  as  they  could 
ascertain  it.  There  was  something  very  dispiriting 
in  this  report,  for  it  might  mean  that  Clifford  had 
left  the  city,  and  in  Gerald's  mood  he  naturally 
looked  at  the  darkest  side  of  everything.  A  week 
went  by  and  nothing  was  heard  from  his  former 
friend.  He  thought  it  more  than  probable  that  the 
note  had  reached  him,  and  that  his  contempt  for  the 
sender  had  induced  him  to  meet  his  request  by  a  dead 
silence.  If  he  had  done  so,  Gerald  felt  that  he  could 
not  blame  him.  It  would  not  be  easy  for  Cliff  to 
despise  him  more  than  he  despised  himself.  He  was 
plunged  into  the  greatest  despondency,  and  in  this 
state  of  mind  his  father  found  him,  when  he  Came  to 
have  a  final  talk  upon  the  situation. 


100  THB  OAJCSTON  BJ3AMY. 


M  It  is  time  that  I  spoke  to  you  plainly,"  he  srnfc*, 

with  that  hard,  cold  ring  to  his  voice  that  his  son 
had  of  late  learned  to  know  so  well  "  You  have 
now  been  in  England  nearly  a  month.  What  excuse 
can  you  find  for  longer  postponing  your  marriage  ?  I 
know  what  you  will  say — that  you  do  not  love  Edith. 
It  is  enough  that  she  loves  you,  and  that  you  have 
given  her  every  reason  to  think  she  is  to  be  your 
wife.  There  is  no  honorable  way  now  in  which  you 
can  escape  making  good  the  understanding  you  have 
had  with  her.  She  is  a  beautiful  girl.  The  marriage 
will  make  me  happy  and  relieve  us  all.  Try  to  think 
of  this  as  your  duty,  and  it  will  seem  easier." 

Gerald  was  too  disheartened  to  answer  for  some 
minutes.  There  was  no  avenue  open  to  him  in  any 
direction,  except  the  one  his  father  pointed  out. 
Perhaps,  he  sadly  thought,  they  were  all  right  and 
he  was  wrong.  Alma  had  turned  her  back  upon  him 
deliberately.  The  only  friend  he  had  thought  it 
possible  could  aid  him  had  either  gone  from  London 
or  had  disdained  to  answer  his  letter  imploring 
assistance.  If  he  could  not  hope  for  happiness  him- 
self, here  was  at  least  a  way  in  which  he  could  impart 
it  to  others. 

"  Let  me  think  of  it  till  to-morrow,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Settle  it  to-day ;  it  is  much  better,"  was  the 
reply.  "  Say  that  I  may  arrange  for  the  marriage- 
it  will  be  an  entirely  private  affair — and  that  will 
relieve  me  of  the  constant  fear  that  I  may  be  placed 
in  the  position  of  a  falsifier  to  a  gentleman  and 
his  daughter  who  have  been  the  soul  of  kindness  to 
both  of  us.  Tell  me  that  you  will  go  to  Edith  and 
ask  her  to  name  the  earliest  hour  when  you  may 


A  CRY  FOB  HELP.  801 

carry  out  the  promises  that  you  made  months  and 
months  ago." 

The  young  man  wavered,  and  then  consented  to 
all  that  his  father  had  asked.  It  repaid  him  to  some 
degree  when  his  parent  grasped  him  by  the  hand 
with  a  cordiality  the  like  of  which  he  had  never 
known  him  to  show,  and  thanked  him  warmly. 

Having  made  up  his  mind,  Gerald  felt  an  elation 
for  which  he  was  not  prepared.  He  had  been  for  so 
many  weeks  in  a  state  of  uncertainty  that  it 
relieved  him  to  have  his  course  decided,  even 
though  it  was  not  the  one  on  which  he  had  fixed 
his  mind.  He  went  to  Edith,  who  was  in  her  own 
apartments,  and  surprised  her  by  an  affectionate 
embrace,  as  she  opened  the  door  to  him.  In  quite 
his  old  manner,  tempered  only  by  such  soberness  as 
the  occasion  might  well  demand,  he  told  her  that  he 
hoped  she  would  be  ready  for  the  ceremony  that 
was  to  unite  them,  as  soon  as  the  preliminaries 
could  be  arranged. 

There  were  few  preparations  necessary.  The  plan 
was  to  send  out  for  some  non-conformist  clergyman, 
and  take  the  vows  quietly.  She  had  no  costumes  to 
procure  and  no  list  of  friends  to  invite.  All  this 
was  talked  over,  and  before  he  left  her  the  day 
was  set  for  the  following  Thursday.  He  returned 
to  his  father,  who  anxiously  awaited  him,  and 
reported  what  he  had  done,  and  John  Garston  went 
at  once  to  Colonel  Staples  and  communicated  the 
information. 

The  reader  who  is  inclined,  very  properly,  to 
feproach  the  parents  of  these  young  people  for  their 
conduct  should  reflect  that  similar  means  have  been 
used  in  all  ages  of  the  world  to  accomplish  similar 


802  THE    OAE8TON     BIGAMY. 

ends,  and  that  the  intended  happiness  of  ihe  ones  to 
be  married  has  been  in  most  cases  the  reason  alleged. 
Garston  had  his  revenge  against  Adams  to  satisfy, 
but  the  Colonel  thought  of  nothing  but  the  future  of 
his  daughter.  The  fact  that  she  loved  Gerald  was 
enough  for  him.  Once  united  there  would  be,  he 
fully  believed,  no  inharmony  between  them.  To 
Edith's  doubts  he  always  replied  that  Gerald's  illness 
was  responsible  for  everything  that  was  strange  in 
his  manner,  and  that  she  might  be  sure  that  all  the 
clouds  that  lowered  above  them  would  disappear  in 
the  fair  sunshine  of  their  wedded  life. 

Until  the  morning  of  his  marriage  day  arrived, 
Gerald  did  not  give  up  hope  of  hearing  from  Clifford. 
That  was  the  only  chance  that  now  remained  to  him. 
He  looked  in  his  box  with  eagerness,  rising  before 
the  others  to  make  sure  that  he  got  whatever  was 
sent  to  him,  but  nothing  came.  Feeling  that  no 
other  course  was  now  open,  he  put  on  the  best  face 
he  could. 

As  he  entered  the  presence  of  the  clergyman  a 
chill  came  over  him,  and  he  feared  lest  the  others 
should  hear  the  chattering  of  his  teeth.  When  it 
was  his  turn  to  answer  the  questions  put  to  him  he 
showed  much  awkwardness.  But  it  was  finally 
accomplished.  He  had  sworn  before  high  Heaven 
to  take  this  woman  for  life,  for  death,  in  sickness  and 
health,  and  to  keep  himself  unto  her  till  death  should 
them  part ! 

"  May  I  kiss  the  bride  ?" 

It  was  John  Garston  who  asked  it,  and  Edith 
looked  up,  pale  and  trembling,  for  she  had  noticed 
with  pain  that  her  husband,  in  his  aberration,  had 


A  CRT   FOB  HELP.  308 

neglected  to  take  that  first  kiss,  usually  so  eagerly 
sought  by  the  newly-wedded  groom. 

"After  Gerald,"  she  whispered,  and  in  spite  of  all 
she  could  do,  the  tears  came  to  her  blue  eyes. 

Gerald  heard  her  like  one  in  a  dream.  He  kissed 
her,  and  when  both  his  father  and  hers  had  followed 
Suit,  the  clergyman  left  them. 

Garston  had  planned  a  little  wedding  breakfast, 
but  the  condition  of  his  son  decided  him  against  hav- 
ing it  served.  He  talked  it  over  with  Colonel  Staples 
and  they  concluded  that  the  best  thing  was  to  send 
the  bridal  couple  at  once  to  another  hotel,  where 
rooms  had  been  engaged  for  them.  He  handed 
Gerald  a  purse  with  more  than  the  twenty  pounds 
he  had  so  craved — now,  alas  !  too  late  to  be  of  use — 
and  with  a  few  words  that  bade  him  be  of  better 
courage,  said  good-by  to  him  until  the  next  day. 
Edith  clung  with  something  like  fear  to  her  father 
ere  they  separated,  and  he  had  all  he  could  do  to 
restrain  his  feelings. 

Gerald  had  hardly  entered  the  carriage  which 
was  to  take  his  bride  and  himself  to  their  temporary 
abode  before  he  had  resolved,  as  well  as  he  was  cap- 
able of  resolving  upon  anything,  that  he  would 
never  consummate  this  union.  The  touch  of  the 
purse  that  he  had  in  his  pocket  had  aroused  all  the 
old  dread  of  this  marriage,  and  awakened  a  determin- 
ation to  escape.  It  would  be  cruel  to  desert  this  fair 
girl  at  such  a  time,  but  would  it  be  any  less  so 
months  hence  ?  He  knew  that  the  separation  would 
have  to  come,  sooner  or  later.  He  realized  how 
villainously  he  had  acted,  but  he  thought  the  best 
way  now  was  to  act  up  to  his  convictions,  no  matter 
at  what  cost  He  liked  Edith,  as  he  had  always  done, 


804  THB 

but  Alma  alone  had  taught  him  to  feel  what  tort 

was.  He  had  done  a  wicked  act  in  standing  up 
and  uttering  those  lies,  but  he  would  carry  it  no  far« 
ther. 

Unconsciously,  with  the  tenderest  feelings  in  his 
mind  for  his  bride,  he  placed  his  arms  about  her  as 
they  rode  through  the  crowded  streets,  and  she, 
knowing  nothing  of  what  passed  through  his  mind, 
nestled  gratefully  against  his  bosom.  But  before 
they  reached  their  new  hotel  he  had  decided  upon 
the  course  he  would  follow.  They  were  shown  to 
their  suite,  comprising  a  little  parlor,  bedroom  and 
bathroom,  beautifully  furnished,  and  here  for  the  first 
time  they  found  themselves  wholly  alone. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  situation  for  him.  He  did 
not  mean  to  arouse  her  suspicions,  and  neither  did 
he  intend  to  stultify  himself  by  indulging  in  those 
extra  attentions  which  the  logic  of  events  might 
have  seemed  to  demand.  The  first  thing  he  did 
was  to  order  breakfast,  for  neither  of  them  had  eaten 
anything  except  the  smallest  lunch  that  morning. 
When  the  waiter  said,  "  You'll  'ave  it  hup  'ere,  sir, 
hof  course  ?"  he  replied  with  due  hauteur,  "  Certainly 
not.  Serve  it  in  the  breakfast  room,  and  notify  me 
when  it  is  ready."  He  meant  to  be  absolutely  alone 
with  his  wife — gods  !  how  that  word  sounded  ! — as 
little  as  he  could. 

After  they  had  eaten  breakfast,  which  filled  in  the 
time  remaining  till  nearly  noon,  he  proposed  that 
they  ;ake  a  long  ride  into  the  country,  and  Edith 
acceded,  as  she  felt  in  duty  bound  to  do.  He  selected 
Hampton  Court,  though  it  was  not  the  season  when 
many  visitors  go  thither,  because  it  would  take  a  long 
time  to  go  and  return,  and  he  must  dispose  of  the 


afternoon  In  some  way.    They  talked  of  the  scenes 

through  which  they  passed,  and  examined  the  paint* 
ings  in  the  galleries  when  they  arrived,  and  no  person 
who  saw  them  imagined  that  they  were  wedded  that 
day.  It  grew  rather  dark  before  they  reached  home, 
and  he  found  his  arm  encircling  her  again.  He  liked 
her,  and  he  felt  a  sympathy  for  her,  and  after  all  it 
could  not  do  much  harm. 

At  the  hotel  dinner  was  ready,  and  both  ate  with 
fair  appetites.  He  lingered  as  long  over  the  walnuts 
and  wine  AS  he  could  find  excuse  for,  and  then  went 
slowly  with  her  to  the  parlor  they  occupied. 

"  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  for  an  hour  or  two/*  he 
said,  immediately.  "There  is  a  little  business  that 
I  have  to  attend  to.  It  may  keep  me  out  quite  late. 
You  had  best  not  sit  up.  If  you  mind  being 
alone—" 

"  Oh,  no.     Not  at  all,"  she  replied. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her,  and  she  met  his  lips 
shyly.  He  would  have  avoided  it  if  he  could,  but  it 
seemed  necessary.  Then  he  went  out  into  the  streets, 
and  inquired  of  the  first  policeman  he  met  the 
nearest  way  to  the  offices  of  the  American  steamers. 
Miraculously,  the  man  knew  enough  of  the  locality 
to  answer  the  question,  for  one  of  the  offices  was 
very  near  the  place  where  they  stood.  Gerald 
accepted  the  directions  given  and  started  to  walk 
to  it. 

His  plan  was  to  take  the  first  boat,  of  whatever 
line,  that  sailed  for  the  western  shores.  Before  leav- 
ing London  he  intended  to  write  a  full  statement  of 
what  he  was  about  to  do  to  Colonel  Staples  and  his 
father.  He  proposed  to  tell  them  that  under  no  con- 
ccivable  circumstances  would  he  ever  return  to  Edith, 


306  TOE   GAR8TOU   BIGAMY. 

and  that  he  hoped  they  would  all  forget  him  as  soon 
as  possible.  He  meant  to  tell  them  his  regret  that 
he  had  not  had  strength  of  mind  to  refuse  the  union, 
and  that  his  only  reason  for  his  present  course  was 
that  he  did  not  love  his  wife  as  he  felt  a  husband 
ought.  He  meant  to  ask  them  to  make  the  blow  as 
light  to  her  as  they  could,  and  to  assure  her  that  he 
felt  the  shame  of  what  he  felt  compelled  to  do. 

When  he  reached  the  steamship  office  he  learned 
that  there  was  no  boat  going  before  Saturday.  This 
was  something  on  which  he  had  not  counted.  It 
seemed  to  indicate  that  he  would  have  to  postpone 
his  departure  until  the  next  day,  and  he  wondered 
what  he  could  do  in  the  meantime.  If  he  went  back 
to  Edith,  what  excuse  could  he. make  to  her  for  seek- 
ing another  apartment  ?  Illness  ?  That  was  not 
sufficient  to  part  a  wife  and  her  husband.  Her  place 
would  be  by  his  side,  and  she  would  demand  it. 
Bitterly  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  done  what  he 
ought  at  the  start,  instead  of  getting  into  this 
muddle.  What  had  become  of  the  common  sense 
that  he  had  once?  Surely  there  had  been  a  day 
when  he  was  not  such  a  coward. 

Should  he  not  go  direct  to  Edith  and  tell  her  the 
truth  ?  No,  anything  but  that.  He  could  not  meet 
her  affrighted  eyes,  her  horror-stricken  face  !  But 
he  must  do  something.  What?  What?  WHAT? 

He  went  into  a  hotel  and  wrote  the  letter  he  had 
decided  upon.  He  walked  after  that  through  un- 
familiar streets,  with  the  fearful  question  unanswered, 
till  the  clock  struck  ten.  Then  he  saw  a  carriage 
standing  in  front  of  a  handsome  residence,  and  a 
man  being  forced  down  the  steps,  and  heard  a  cry  for 
help. 


WHERE  WOMItf   RISK   DEATH.  207 

CHAPTER   XXXIL 

WHERE    WOMEN   RISK   DEATH, 

Seeking  to  find  some  relief  from  his  own  depression, 
AS  well  as  from  the  constant  strain  which  his  meetings 
with  Alma  now  put  upon  him,  Clifford  Nelson 
engaged  the  services  of  a  guide  and  spent  consider- 
able time  inspecting  the  parts  of  London  into  which 
the  ordinary  traveler  is  not  supposed  to  penetrate. 
It  is  said  that  no  one  person  knows  the  whole  of  that 
vast  Babel,  but  this  man  came  as  near  it  as  any  one 
could.  He  was  a  veritable  encyclopaedia  of  every- 
thing within  ten  miles  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  hav- 
ing made  it  a  business  to  show  strangers  about  ever 
since  he  was  a  very  young  man,  as  had  his  father 
before  him. 

"There's  a  house  the  business  of  which  you  would 
not  be  likely  to  suspect  from  the  appearance  of  the 
exterior,"  he  said,  one  day,  as  they  passed  a  hand- 
some residence  within  a  stone's  throw  of  Pall  Mall. 
44  Few  of  those  who  live  in  the  neighborhood  imagine 
what  goes  on  within  those  quiet  portals." 

Then  he  whispered  the  secret  to  Nelson,  who 
opened  his  eyes  with  astonishment,  and  inquired 
why  the  police  permitted  such  places  to  exist  so 
openly. 

rt  They  regard  them  as  necessities,"  responded  the 
guide.  "  It  is  considered  better  that  something  of 
this  kind  should  be  allowed  than  that  respectable 
families  should  find  their  names  dragged  in  the  mud. 
I  could,  though  of  course  I  would  not,  give  you  th« 


SOS  IBB  GARSTOIC   BIO  AVT. 

names  of  some  ladies  of  the  peerage  who  hare  been 
here.  Here  comes  a  carriage.  If  we  walk  slowly 
we  may  see  something." 

A  veiled  lady  alighted,  who  gave  directions  to  her 
driver  to  return  in  an  hour,  and  then  silently  vanished 
into  the  residence. 

"  A  little  more  careful  than  most  of  them,"  com- 
mented the  guide.  "  She  is  wise  enough  to  muffle 
her  face." 

Nelson  was  a  good  deal  shocked. 

"  But  does  not  death  sometimes  ensue  P  he  asked. 

"  Y-e-s,"  was  the  slow  answer.  "  They  take  the 
risk  of  that.  I  should  be  willing  to  guarantee  that 
bodies  are  carried  out  of  the  rear  exit  once  a  month, 
at  least.  A  certain  proportion  of  the  cases  are  fatal. 
But,  bless  you  !  this  is  London.  It's  a  big  city,  and 
they  say  that  three  hundred  people  go  to  the  ceme- 
teries daily  on  the  average." 

Nelson  shuddered,  and  instinctively  quickened  his 
pace.  He  wanted  to  get  away  from  the  vicinity.  It 
seemed  to  him  the  wickedest  thing  he  had  yet 
encountered.  He  wondered  if  the  lady  who  had  just 
disappeared  within  those  doors  would  be  added  to 
that  horrible  list  of  those  who  never  came  out  alive. 
He  thought  of  that  coachman  waiting  in  vain,  hour 
after  hour,  until  a  messenger  came  down  the  steps  to 
say  that  he  might  go  ;  and  he  tried  to  think  what 
report  he  would  make  to  his  master.  Cruel,  heart- 
less London  !  In  nothing  had  it  seemed  so  terrible 
as  in  this  murderous  den,  with  its  fair  and  shining 
front  exposed  to  the  smiling  crowds  who  passed  hour 
by  hour,  never  thinking  of  the  villainy  within. 

He  did  not  know  that  every  large  city  of  his  own 
America  had  just  such  places,  and  that  fortunes  art 


reaped  by  the  "  doctors  "  who  ply  this  trade.  He 
had  never  conned  the  adroitly  worded  advertise- 
ments, published  every  day  by  great  newspapers, 
which  in  their  "  literary  "  departments  hold  up  their 
hands  at  books  like  "  Thou  Shalt  Not,"  and  In 
Stella's  Shadow."  He  had  never  inspected  the  books 
in  the  counting  rooms  of  these  journals,  showing 
sometimes  as  high  as  a  hundred  dollars  a  day—* 
thirty  thousand  dollars  a  year— received  from  thes« 
advertisements,  making  the  virtuous  gentlemen  who 
own  the  papers  sharers  in  a  business  which  could 
hardly  exist  without  their  aid.  He  was  an  innocent 
young  man,  was  Clifford  Nelson,  and  he  thought 
London  wickeder  than  New  York,  or  Philadelphia, 
or  Boston.  He  was  a  very  innocent  young  man,  or 
he  would  have  known  that — take  them  by  propor- 
tionate population — the  capital  of  Great  Britain  is  in 
some  respects  lagging  at  the  rear  of  the  fearful 
column. 

Nelson  could  not  get  the  house  out  of  his  mind,  and 
he  found  himself  several  evenings  later  loitering  in 
its  vicinity,  as  one  loiters  where  men  have  been  gull. 
lotined  or  where  suicides  have  dashed  their  brains 
out  on  the  pavement.  He  marked  the  elegance  of 
most  of  the  carriages  that  came  and  went,  and  the 
aristocratic  bearing  of  the  ladies  who  were  the  patrons 
of  the  institutions.  Occasionally  a  common  cab  was 
of  the  Ust,  but  it  was  conspicuous  for  its  ordinary 
appearance,  and  its  driver  usually  drove  off  as  soon 
as  his  fare  had  left  h>m,  knowing  that  she  could 
easily  engage  another  from  the  stream  that  constantly 
crowded  the  thoroughfare. 

As  he  was  about  to  turn  away,  Nelson  saw  a  veiled 
fgur«  leave  a  carriage  at  the  door  and  proceed  up  the 


810  TH*    GABSTOR    BtOAXT. 

•teps,  that  at  once  riveted  his  attention.  He  could 
not  tell  for  a  moment  what  it  was  that  startled  him, 
but  he  began  to  tremble  violently  and  the  perspira- 
tion started  in  heavy  drops  on  his  forehead.  There 
was  something  about  the  walk  of  the  lady,  something 
about  her  figure  that  was  strangely  familiar.  He  felt 
assured  that  he  had  seen  her  before,  but  he  could 
not  at  first  tell  anything  more  definite.  It  must  be 
merely  a  fancy.  He  did  not  know  personally  ten 
women  in  England,  and  how  could  he  recognize  this 
one,  out  of  all  the  throng  that  filled  the  vast  city  ? 
The  lady  disappeared  at  the  portal,  and  the  door 
closed  behind  her. 

The  young  man  on  the  sidewalk  felt  as  if  he  was 
being  asphyxiated.  He  could  hardly  breathe.  He 
was  sure,  the  longer  he  thought  of  it,  that  he  knew 
the  lady,  and  he  had  an  awful  sense  of  guilt  that  he 
permitted  her  to  enter  the  place  without  at  least 
uttering  a  word  of  warning.  But  how  could  he  have 
the  temerity  to  do  that  when  he  did  not  even  know 
her  name?  The  veil  over  her  face  concealed  her 
identity.  The  carriage  that  brought  her  had  gone 
its  way.  There  was  no  one  to  ask,  and  the  lady  her- 
self was  out  of  his  reach.  It  must  be  imagination. 
He  started  to  walk  away,  trying  to  make  himself 
believe  that  he  had  allowed  his  senses  to  wander. 

And  then  it  came  upon  him  like  a  thunderbolt ! 

No  !  It  was  too  ridiculous  !  It  could  not  be  Alma, 
and  all  the  resemblances  in  the  world  did  not  make 
it  more  likely !  He  thought  he  would  go  to  her 
hotel  to  make  sure  she  was  there,  and  thus  dismiss 
the  foolish  phantasy.  But  if  it  were!  If  by  any 
combination  of  satanic  power  she  was  the  woma* 


WHERE   WOMEN  BISK   DEATH.  $11 

who  went  up  those  steps,  the  time  he  would  lose  in 
searching  for  her  might  be  fatal. 

How  could  it  be  Alma  ?  and  yet,  when  did  any  two 
women  seem  so  much  alike  ?  What  could  send  that 
country  girl,  from  the  farming  district  of  Iowa,  into 
such  a  den  as  this  ?  If  it  was,  she  must  be  there 
under  a  misapprehension.  She  could  not  know  the 
character  of  the  house  that  his  guide  had  described. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  night  when  he  met  Gerald 
stalking  through  the  wood,  and  he  asked  him  to  take 
his  life.  He  recalled  what  he  heard  at  the  meeting 
between  him  and  his  angry  father.  It  came  back  to 
him,  much  quicker  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  that  Alma 
had  said  she  did  not  intend  to  remain  long  with  Mrs. 
Lenoir's  party,  and  had  hesitated  when  he  asked  her 
what  she  intended  to  do  next. 

It  might  be  Alma  !  There  was  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  that  the  resemblance  was  real.  It  was  his 
duty  to  risk  everything  to  ascertain  ! 

Calming  himself  with  a  prodigious  effort,  Nelson 
walked  up  the  steps  and  entered  the  house,  the  door 
being  freely  opened  to  him.     To  the  guardian  of  the 
portal  he  said  he  wished  to  speak  to  the  lady  who  last 
entered.     His  manner  was  not  calculated  to  arouse 
suspicion,  and  a  little  bell   called   a  young  woman 
who  was  directed  to  show  the  gentleman  to  Room  10 
It  was  evident  that  he  was  supposed  to  belong  to  the 
lady  for  whom  he  had  inquired,  and  that  there  was  con. 
sidered  nothing  extraordinary  in  his  presence  there. 

"  Tell  her  that  she  will  have  to  wait  some  minutes," 
said  the  woman,  with  a  foreign  inflexion,  as  she 
indicated  the  room.  "  They  are  very  busy 
to-night." 


313  rax  GABS-TOW  BIGAMY. 

He  handed  the  woman  a  sovereign,  for  which  she 

thanked  him  and  withdrew. 

How  could  he  open  that  door?  If  he  were 
wrong,  his  gentlemanly  instincts  made  him  dread 
meeting  with  a  lady  who  would  have  good  cause  to 
think  him  a  spy  and  an  interloper.  But  if  he  were 
right !  Ah  !  It  would  be  much  harder  to  tell  what 
to  do,  then  ! 

His  trembling  hand  was  on  the  door  and  in 
another  second  he  was  in  the  room. 

Alma — it  was  none  other — stood  at  a  mirror,  with 
her  veil  removed,  trying  to  eradicate  the  look  of 
apprehension  from  her  face.  When  she  heard  the 
door  open,  she  turned,  supposing  it  to  be  an  attend- 
ant. It  is  not  easy  to  describe  her  trepidation  when 
she  saw  Nelson.  She  took  one  step  toward  him  and 
then  sank  upon  the  nearest  sofa. 

**  You  must  not  faint !"  he  exclaimed,  with  start- 
ling vividness.  "  You  must  take  leave  of  this  house, 
and  not  an  instant  is  to  be  lost !" 

She  had  not  fainted,  and  she  did  not  mean  to. 
There  was  a  great  deal-of  force  in  her  when  she  was 
aroused,  and  for  weeks  she  had  been  preparing  her 
mind  for  this  ordeal. 

"Take  your  hand  off!"  she  said,  for  he  had 
grasped  her  by  the  arm. 

"Nonsense!"  he  replied,  excitedly.  "You  wiU 
leave  here  at  once,  and  with  me.  There  are  other 
ways  of  committing  suicide  than  to  put  yourself  in 
the  hands  of  the  wretches  who  own  this  house.'* 

*  You  cannot  frighten  me  by  talking  of  death," 
•he  answered,  coldly.  "It  is  welcome,  in  any  form 
it  chooses  to  assume." 


WHERE  WOMEN  BISK  DEATH.  81* 

He  was  astounded  at  the  audacity  of  her  words 
and  the  determination  of  her  manner. 

"  If  you  covet  death,"  he  said,  "  at  least  die  where 
it  will  not  also  bring  disgrace." 

"Disgrace!"  She  laughed  recklessly.  "You 
know  I  am  here,  and  you  know  why,  or  you  can 
guess.  Is  there  any  disgrace  that  can  equal  that  ? 
Besides,  they  will  give  me  a  chance  to  redeem  my 
name.  It  is  only  a  chance,  but  it  may  succeed. 
What  can  you  offer  better?" 

He  talked  to  her  with  all  the  force  that  he  could 
muster  for  the  next  five  minutes,  and  nothing  that 
he  said  had  the  least  effect  on  the  determined  girU 
He  told  her  he  would  find  Gerald.  He  said  he  would 
furnish  her  all  the  money  she  needed,  if  there 
was  any  want  of  funds,  to  go  as  far  away  as  she 
pleased,  until  her  trouble  was  over,  but  he  insisted 
that  she  must  not  imperil  her  life.  She  had  an 
answer  ready  for  every  point  that  he  made.  She  was 
there,  and  she  would  not  go. 

**  You  can  tell  my  father  what  you  please,"  she 
said.  "  You  can  put  it  in  the  newspapers,  if  you 
wish.  I  know  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  It 
will  not  avail  if  you  argue  till  doomsday." 

One  of  the  attendants  of  the  place  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  then  entered.  He  looked  surprised  to  see 
Nelson  there. 

u  We  have  concluded,"  said  Clifford,  in  a  firm  voice, 
•  that  we  will  leave  here." 

" The  lady  is  related  to  you?"  said  the  man 
interrogatively. 

"Yes." 

Then  Alma  found  her  voice. 


314  THS    GAR8TON1    BIGAMT. 

"It  is  not  true  P  she  exclaimed  indignantly.  «J He 
has  no  right  to  dictate  what  I  shall  do." 

The  man  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  must  settle  it  between  you,"  said  he. 

"  We  are  going,"  said  Nelson,  taking  Alma  by  the 
arm  again. 

The  hands  of  the  attendant  were  raised  deprecat- 
ingly. 

"  You  ought  to  know  that  this  is  no  place  for 
quarrels,"  he  said.  "  If  your  husband  wishes  you  to 
go,  it  is  his  affair.  Give  me  twenty-five  pounds,  and 
retire  quietly." 

"  Twenty-five  devils  !"  retorted  Nelson. 

He  had  not  half  the  sum  mentioned  with  him. 

Alma  was  trying  vainly  all  this  time  to  release 
Clifford's  grasp,  which  hurt  her  severely,  but  he  held 
her  as  in  a  vise. 

"There  is  ten  pounds,"  cried  Clifford,  throwing 
down  his  purse.  "  It  is  all  I  have  here,  and  you  must 
wait  for  the  rest  till  I  can  send  it.  Make  way.  We 
have  wasted  time  enough." 

He  started  to  drag  Alma  from  the  room,  but  the 
attendant  barred  the  way.  Enraged  beyond  endur- 
ance Nelson  struck  the  man  a  blow  that  floored  him. 
Then,  taking  the  girl  as  if  she  were  a  bundle  of 
straw  he  started  for  the  outer  door.  But  here  he 
had  the  door-opener  to  deal  with,  and  the  delay 
allowed  the  man  who  had  been  knocked  down  to 
arouse  several  of  the  other  attendants,  who  came 
running  to  the  spot  where  Clifford  was  trying  to 
escape  with  the  unwilling  girl. 

Seeing  that  it  was  becoming  a  serious  matter, 
Kelson  released  his  hold  on  Alma,  and  struck  out 


WOMEN  BISK  DEATB.  S15 

right  and  left.  He  managed  to  get  the  door  open  in 
the  me'tee,  and  to  get  outside  of  it,  but  some  of  the 
servants  who  had  been  hit  by  his  fists  did  not  mean 
to  let  him  off  so  easily.  They  followed  him,  and  the 
battle  was  renewed  on  the  steps.  Being  three  to  one 
they  would  soon  have  had  him  hors  du  combat,  had 
not  aid  come  from  an  unexpected  quarter.  A  pass- 
er-by, seeing  that  three  men  had  one  down  and  were 
belaboring  him  without  mercy,  sprang  into  the  fight 
and  turned  the  tide  of  battle. 

*'  What  do  you  want  to  do — kill  him  ?"  he  asked, 
assisting  the  prostrate  figure  to  rise- 
By  this  time  others  of  the  household  had  joined 
the  party,  and  seeing  their  friends  worsted  by  the 
new-comer,  they  set  upon  him  like  a  parcel  of  wolves. 
He  had  not  time  to  put  up  his  hands  when  a  well- 
directed  blow  sent  him  to  earth.  His  head 
struck  the  curbstone,  aud  he  was  immediately 
unconscious. 

A  tardy  policeman  finally  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  crowd.  The  assailants  had  previously  scattered 
with  celerity.  He  bent  over  the  figure  on  the  side- 
walk. 

Alma  came  from  the  residence,  being  pushed  out 
with  no  gentle  motion.  The  managers  had  received 
from  her  the  balance  of  the  sum  they  demanded,  but 
had  declined  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  a 
person  who  brought  such  discord  into  their  house. 
She  tried  her  best  to  evade  Nelson,  but  he  had  her 
by  the  arm  again,  and  she  did  not  like  to  make  a 
scene  in  the  street. 

"  Here  is  some  one,"  he  said,  harshly,  "  whom  you 
may  wish  to  see." 
Gerald's  face  was  turned  toward  the  sky,  and  witi 


316  THB  GABS-TOST  BXOUfT. 

the  blood  that  trickled  from  the  wound  it 
sufficiently  deathlike.  Alma  gave  a  smothered  cry 
and  threw  herself  upon  the  ground  by  his  side. 
Womanlike,  she  forgot  her  injuries  in  Ihe  presence 
of  her  beloved. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

*GOD  KNOWS  THAT  I  LOVE  YOU  P* 

•Do  you  know  him  ?"  asked  the  officer. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Clifford.  "  If  you  will  call  a,  car* 
riage  I  will  take  him  to  my  hotel,  and  procure  the 
best  attendance." 

The  officer  demurred,  and  after  some  delay  the 
matter  was  arranged  by  taking  the  injured  man  into 
the  nearest  physician's  office,  that  an  examination 
might  be  had.  With  the  consent  of  the  doctor 
Gerald  was  afterwards  conveyed  in  an  ambulance 
to  Nelson's  apartments,  where  everything  was  done 
for  him  that  skill  could  suggest.  It  was  a  strange 
revolution  that  had  come  so  suddenly  to  one  so  long 
filled  with  bitterness,  and  who  now,  finding  Gerald 
hurt  in  his  defence,  treated  him  as  if  he  were  a 
brother. 

Alma  was  crushed  by  the  occurrence.  She  accom- 
panied the  party  to  the  hotel,  for  she  could  not  bear 
that  Gerald  should  be  taken  out  of  her  sight.  She 
explained  to  Nelson,  between  her  sobs,  that  she  had 
that  day  left  Mrs.  Lenoir,  who  had  started  for  the 
Riviera,  and  who  had  been  instructed  by  Mr.  Adam* 


"•QD  XlTOWt  THAT  f  LOT!  TOW.  JIT 

to  allow  his  daughter  ''to  remain  in  London  If  she 

preferred.  She  had  not  told  Nelson  of  her  intention, 
as  she  hoped  to  escape  him,  and  believed  the  easiest 
way  was  to  let  him  think  she  had  gone  south  with 
the  rest  of  them.  As  she  had  taken  rooms  at  a  new 
hotel  there  was  no  need  of  her  hastening  there,  and 
she  wanted  to  help  nurse  Gerald  back  to  conscious- 
ness and  health. 

Nelson  did  a  good  deal  of  thinking  during  the 
rest  of  that  night,  for  he  did  not  close  his  eyes  in 
sleep.  The  doctor  assured  him  that  Gerald  had 
received  no  hurt  that  would  be  lasting.  But  the 
position  in  which  he  had  found  Alma,  and  the  strange 
bringing  of  her  and  her  lover  together  opened  up  a 
problem  that  required  a  great  deal  of  study.  He 
knew  that  Gerald  was  in  the  city  with  his  father, 
with  Colonel  Staples  and  with  Edith.  He  did  not 
know  that  the  marriage  had  already  taken  place,  or 
all  his  acts  might  have  been  different.  He  endeav- 
ored to  consider  the  matter  apart  from  his  own 
interests,  for  he  loved  Edith  with  all  his  heart,  and 
could  not  bear  to  think  that  she  was  to  become 
Gerald's  wife.  He  tried  to  put  himself  aside,  and 
consider  only  the  duty  of  Gerald  toward  this  girl 
who  now  bent  over  his  pillow  in  agony,  and  whom 
he  had  driven  to  the  edge  of  crime,  perhaps  of  death. 
It  was  clearly  Gerald's  greatest  obligation  to  right 
the  wrong  he  had  done.  Alma  loved  him,  and 
unless  he  had  greatly  changed  he  cared  more  than 
a  little  for  her.  When  he  knew  what  had  happened 
he  would  see  his  duty.  Thus  thought  Clifford,  and 
the  long  night  wore  away. 

In  the  morning  Gerald  knew  his  friends,  though 
he  was  very  weak.  They  told  him  in  a  few  word* 


818  THB  OABSTON   BIQAMT. 

how  they  had  found  him  hurt  in  the  street,  and  had 

brought  him  there.  He  was  much  surprised  to  see 
Alma  and  Clifford  together.  By  noon  he  felt  strong 
enough  to  ask  the  questions  that  rose  to"  his  mind, 
and  when  he  was  alone  with  Clifford,  Alma  having 
retired  to  take  the  rest  she  needed,  he  began  his 
:nquiries. 

"I  can't  talk  much,"  he  said,  "but tell  me  one 
thing.  Is  she  your  wife  ?" 

Clifford  stared  at  him  blankly. 

"She?    Who?"  he  asked. 

"  Alma." 

"Why,  what  an  idea!  Certainly  not.  Such  a 
thing  was  never  thought  of.  We  happened  to  meet 
accidentally,  just  before  we  saw  you." 

"  Upon  your  word  ?"  he  said. 

"  Upon  my  honor." 

"  But  you  have  always  loved  her." 

"  Never,"  said  Clifford.  "  That  was  your  mis- 
take." 

The  questioner  was  satisfied,  though  he  could  not 
understand  the  last  denial. 

"  Have  you  notified  my — my  father— of  my  condi- 
tion ?" 

"  No,  but  I  shall  do  so,  as  soon  as  you  tell  me 
where  he  can  be  found." 

"  I  would  rather  you  did  not.  I  would  like  to  hide 
here  for  awhile  away  from  all  of  them." 

"  Away  from  Edith,  too  ?"   asked  Clifford,  soberly. 

*  From  her  most  of  all.  I  have  no  right  to  ask  a 
favor  of  you,  but  I  do  ask  this.  I  beg  it.  I  have 
written  to  them  that  they  will  not  see  me  again. 
Keep  me  where  none  of  them  can  find  me  till  I  am 
well  enough  to  travel." 


"•OD   KNOWS  THAT  I   LOTE   YOU.*  31  > 

ft  was  a  very  peculiar  request,  but  Nelson  wa» 
quite  willing  to  grant  it.  An  arrangement  was  made 
at  once  with  the  hotel  to  provide  an  extra  suite  of 
rooms,  and  Gerald  was  assured  that  he  was  more  than 
welcome  to  stay  as  long  as  he  pleased. 

Nelson  talked  with  Alma  when  she  awoke,  and 
then  he  left  the  hotel  with  a  very  sober  countenance. 
He  went  to  the  office  of  the  trans-Atlantic  cable,  and 
sent  a  long  dispatch.  He  was  uneasy  as  a  fish  out  of 
water  until  the  next  day,  when  a  brief  answer  came. 
The  answer  contained  but  one  word,  "  Yes,"  but  it 
was  sufficient,  and  Nelson  could  not  remember  any 
time  in  his  life  when  he  had  felt  so  happy. 

Gerald  recovered  rapidly  under  the  kind  care  of 
his  friend — now  his  friend  again,  surely — his  old 
sweetheart,  and  the  able  physician  who  had  been 
summoned.  He  was  alone  a  good  deal  with  Alma, 
and  it  surprised  her  that  he  said  so  little  about  the 
past  or  the  future.  But  she  had  taken  Nelson's 
advice  and  waited  with  patience  till  he  should  be 
quite  well  again,  as  he  assured  her  something  was 
certainly  going  to  happen. 

Eleven  days  after  the  dispatch  from  America  had 
been  received  an  envelope  of  large  dimensions  was 
delivered  at  the  hotel,  addressed  to  "Mr.  Clifford 
Nelson."  That  individual  opened  it  and  uttered  a 
cry  of  joy  as  he  inspected  its  contents.  He  lost  no 
time  in  going  to  see  Gerald,  who  was  up  and  dressed 
and  occupied  at  the  moment  in  reading  a  newspaper. 

"I  am  going  to  talk  to  you  more  solemnly  than  I 
ever  did  in  my  life,"  was  his  greeting.  "  Are  you 
prepared  to  listen  ?" 

A  silent   affirmative  was   the  answer  he  received. 


899  THE  6ABSTON   BIGA1CY. 

Gerald  was  somewhat  alarmed  by  the   words  and 

manner  of  his  host. 

"  I  have  known  you  for  five  years,"  said  Nelson. 
"  I  have  loved  you,  hated  you,  despised  you,  in  turn. 
To-day,  when  I  reflect  what  I  have  to  tell,  I  pity 
you." 

There  was  no  reply,  but  the  still  figure  was  in  rapt 
attention. 

"  You  used  to  tell  me  that  you  could  not  tell  which 
of  two  beautiful  girls  you  cared  for  most.  One  night 
I  met  you  coming  from  one  of  them  in  a  state 
approaching  insanity.  When  your  mind  cleared,  you 
told  me  that  you  had  decided  between  these  girls 
and  that  nothing  could  ever  change  your  love  from 
the  one  to  whom  you  had  given  it — Alma  Adams. 
Afterwards  you  left  her — left  her  without  a  word  of 
farewell.  Since  then  rumor  and  the  public  prints 
have  announced  that  you  were  to  marry  the  other 
one.  I  do  not  know,  out  of  all  this  conglomeration, 
which  of  them  you  now  believe  dearest  to  you,  but  1 
do  know  that  there  is  a  reason,  and  one  that  could 
not  well  be  stronger,  why  you  should  select  the  one 
you  told  me  you  loved  that  night,  in  the  wood  at 
Jefferson." 

Gerald  uttered  a  stifled  cry  of  anguish. 

"  I  cannot  spare  you,  for  I  do  not  know  how  to  put 
«iy  story  into  delicate  phrase.  What  I  came  to  tell 
you  is,  Alma  Adams  will  be  the  unwedded  mother 
of  your  child  unless — * 

The  tortured  man  had  sprung  to  his  feet. 

"My  God  !"  he  groaned.  He  staggered  a  moment 
and  then  cried  :  "  You  have  come  too  late  !" 

"  No,"  said  Clifford,  calmly.  "  It  is  never  too  late 
to  repair  a  wrong.  To  save  you  and  her  I  have  com- 


"GOD  KNOW!  THAT  I  LOTH  YOU  P      S21 

mittcd  a  misdemeanor  that  could  make  me  liable  to 
imprisonmenl  if  il  is  ever  discovered  in  Iowa.  I 
have  bribed  Justice  Moseley  lo  send  me  a  cerlificale 
lhat  he  married  you  and  Alma  nearly  four  monlhs 
ago.  Here  is  Ihe  documenl."  He  look  out  Ihe 
paper  as  he  spoke.  "For  the  sake  of  the  honor  of  a 
lovely  girl  I  have  made  myself  a  criminal.  She  does 
not  know  yet.  It  remains  for  you  to  tell  her,  if  you 
wish  to  profit  by  it." 

Gerald  heard  the  concluding  statement  eagerly. 

"  It  has  been  recorded  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "  As  tar 
as  the  record  goes,  I  am  the  husband  of  Alma  ?*' 

"  Precisely." 

He  fell  on  his  knees  and  kissed  the  coat  of  his 
friend,  with  the  air  of  a  devotee  before  the  shrine  of 
his  saint. 

"  Send  her  here,"  he  said,  brokenly. 

Clifford  gladly  withdrew,  and  in  a  few  moments 
Alma  entered  the  room  where  Gerald  was. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  me  ?"  she  asked,  surprised  at 
the  nervousness  of  his  manner. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  huskily.     "  Read  this." 

He  handed  her  the  certificate  of  marriage  and  she 
read  it  through.  Then  she  looked  up,  with  amaze- 
ment  written  on  every  feature. 

"Gerald,  what  does  it  mean  ?" 

Then  he  told  her,  gently  as  he  could,  what  Nelson 
had  done,  and  asked  her  if  she  would  accept  him. 

"  I  am  your  husband,"  he  said,  "  according  to  the 
laws  of  our  State." 

"But — is  it  enough  ?"  she  asked,  half  frighlened. 

"We  have  only  lo  live  up  lo  il,"  he  answered. 

She  shook  her  head. 

*  God  knows  lhal  I  love  you  I"  she  said.     "  I  hare 


822  THE   GAR8TON   BIOAMT. 

been  wicked  once,  let  me  not  make  the  mistake 
again !" 

He  put  his  arms  about  her. 

"  There  is  another  to  be  thought  of,  my  darling." 

**  You  know  /" 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  to  say,"  she'added,  after  a  long 
pause. 

al  will  not  ask  you  to  say  anything  now.  The 
record  will  save  your  reputation,  and  we  can  never 
thank  Cliff  enough  for  it.  I  told  you  long  ago  that 
you  were  mine  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  and  so  you 
are  to-day.  But  I  will  wait  till  you  are  satisfied." 

Just  then  a  waiter  came  to  the  door  and  handed 
him  a  card.  He  saw  the  name  on  it  as  men  see  things 
in  dreams. 

**  You  must  go  now  for  a  little  while,  Alma,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  a  visitor  waiting  on  important  busi- 
ness." 

He  kissed  her  good-bye,  and  showed  her  to  the 
exit  of  the  hotel  that  was  least  frequented.  Then 
he  went  back  and  told  the  waiter  to  show  the  lady 
up. 

It  was  a  queer  name  that  he  found  on  the  card — a 
name  he  had  never  heard  before — "  Mrs.  Gerald 
Garston." 

When  the  door  opened  again  Edith  was  at  th« 
threshold* 


AN   ANGEL   FROM    JIEAYEW.  323 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AN    ANGEL   FROM    HEAVEN. 

Gerald  was  so  overcome  at  the  sight  of  his  wife 
that  for  almost  a  minute  he  forgot  to  ask  her  to  take 
a  seat.  She  was  hardly  less  confused,  for  his  man- 
ner disconcerted  her.  Presently  he  came  to  himself, 
however,  and  handed  her  a  chair.  Each  hoped  the 
other  would  speak  first,  but  it  was  Edith  who  did  so. 

"  I  have  not  come  here  to  reproach  you,"  she  said, 
in  a  voice  that  trembled  in  spite  of  all  her  effort. 
"  Neither  my  father  nor  yours  know  that  I  have  found 
you.  It  is  too  much  to  say  that  I  have  not  suffered, 
but  I  have  no  intention  of  complaining.  I  feared 
that  harm  had  happened  to  you,  and  that,  in  your 
desperate  mood,  you  might  do  something  desperate. 
I  heard  of  the  accident  that  brought  you  to  this 
house — in  fact,  it  was  through  the  doctor  that 
attended  you  that  the  news  came,  very  strangely,  to 
me.  I  learn  that  you  are  now  recovered  and  that  I 
need  have  no  fear  on  that  score.  And  all  I  want  is 
to  say  good-bye,  and  to  tell  you  that  my  earnest 
prayers  will  always  be  offered  for  your  happiness." 

If  she  had  come  with  a  knife  or  a  revolver  he  could 
have  met  her  better.  He  bowed  his  head  in  humil- 
iation, and  she  proceeded,  her  voice  growing  stronger. 

"  I  ought  to  have  known — I  was  blind  that  I  did 
not  see — how  distasteful  it  was  to  you  to  unite  your 
life  with  mine.  I  was  over-persuaded  by  my  father, 
who  ascribed  natural  causes  to  your  strange  moods. 
On  the  morning  of  our  marriage  I  told  him  that  I 


Sfi  THE   GAR8TON   BIGAMY. 

felt  it  ought  to  be  postponed  until  you  were  in  a  dif- 
ferent state,  but  he  said  so  much  that  I  reluctantly 
consented  to  go  on  with  the  ceremony.  All  that  day 
1  noted  your  aberration,  and  when  you  went  out  of 
my  room  at  night  I  really  did  not  expect  you  to 
return.  I  sat  waiting  till  after  midnight,  and  then 
sent  a  messenger  for  father.  He  came,  and  was 
much  shocked  by  what  I  told  him.  His  heart  was 
set  on  seeing  me  happy,  and  he  thought  there  was  a 
disgrace  in  this  desertion  that  I  could  never  recover 
from.  We  talked  together  till  morning,  and  then 
your  letter  was  received,  settling  our  doubts.  Your 
father  was  in  a  great  rage  when  he  heard  of  it.  He 
declared  that  you  should  be  brought  back  and  com- 
pelled to  carry  out  your  vows.  J  told  him  there  was 
one  person  who  could  effectually  stop  that.  I  said  I 
only  wanted  to  tell  you  how  free  you  were  to  go  and 
come  in  any  part  of  the  world,  as  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned. I  knew  you  had  not  taken  such  a  course 
except  under  a  pressure  you  could  not  resist.  What 
that  pressure  was  I  could  only  guess,  but  I  think  I 
guessed  rightly.  I  believed  it  the  love  of  another — 
of  Alma  Adams." 

He  tried  to  speak  then,  but  she  would  not  let  him 
yet. 

"If  it  was  the  reason,  Gerald,  I  am  glad.  Yes, 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  shall  rejoice  if  the 
outcome  of  this  matter  is  the  happiness  of  two  people 
whom  I  care  for  as  I  do  you  and  Alma.  And  I  have 
news  that  I  know  you  will  be  glad  to  hear.  You  and 
I  are  still  single  !" 

"  Still  single  !"  he  gasped. 

"  Yes.  It  has  been  discovered  that  the  clergyman 
who  professed  to  marry  us  had  lost  his  standing  in  hit 


AN  ANGEL  FBOM  HEAVEN.          336 

denomination,  and  had  no  right  to  perform  the  cere- 
mony." 

It  seemed  impossible  that  he  could  have  heard  her 
aright,  and  yet  there  she  was,  before  him,  as  real  as 
she  had  been  in  those  dear  old  days  when  he  had  car- 
ried her  across  brooks  and  walked  with  her  under 
the  shade  trees  on  the  road  to  the  school-house  in 
Jefferson.  She  spoke  with  the  same  gentle  accents 
as  if  he  had  never  done  her  that  grievous  wrong,  and 
introduced  into  her  young  life  an  element  that  must 
always  cause  her  pain. 

"Edie,"  he  said,  and  the  tender  diminutive  seemed 
more  appropriate  than  ever,  "  I  will  not  say  I  am 
sorry  to  hear  this.  But  you  know  that  all  the  apolo- 
gies I  could  make  in  a  lifetime  would  not  excuse 
what  I  have  done.  And  you  are  not  aware,  either,  of 
the  extent  of  the  wrong  I  intended  to  commit." 

She  started  slightly,  and  looked  anxiously  at  him 
for  an  explanation. 

"  Never  did  God  send  two  such  girls  as  you  and 
Alma  to  this  sinful  earth,"  he  went  on.  "During  all 
my  childhood,  during  the  early  days  of  my  manhood 
— if  indeed  I  have  ever  been  worthy  to  be  called  a 
man — I  loved  you  both  with  such  intensity  that  I 
could  discover  no  difference  between  you.  I  could 
not  bear  to  contemplate  the  day  when  I  should  have 
to  give  either  of  you  up.  Out  of  that  long  struggle 
I  emerged  with  my  eyes  partly  opened.  I  found 
that  it  was — forgive  me,  Edie — that  it  was  Alma." 

She  smiled  for  him  to  proceed,  saying  only,  "  I 
know  it,  Gerald." 

"  It  was  Alma  that  I  could  not  live  without/'  he 
continued,  finishing  the  sentence.  "  Why,  then,  did 
I  not  say  so  openly  and  honestly?  Because  my 


|S26  THE    GAKSTON    BIGAMY. 

father's  affairs — the  aid  he  had  received  from  the 
Colonel — were  known  to  me.  Then  Mr.  Adams  did 
all  in  his  power  to  keep  Alma  and  me  apart.  I  had 
my  illness,  and  you  came  to  nurse  me.  Alma's 
mother's  death  took  her  away,  and  letters  which  I 
wrote  her  were  never  answered.  I  have  since 
learned  that  she  did  not  receive  them,  and  they  were 
doubtless  intercepted.  Discouraged,  I  came  to 
England  with  you  to  see  if  I  could  regain  my  strength. 
The  way  my  father  aided  me  in  that  is  shown  in  an 
analysis  that  I  have  recently  had  made  of  the  con- 
tents of  this  vial." 

He  took  out  the  vial  as  he  spoke,  and  held  it  up 
before  her  astonished  eyes. 

"This  was  the  medicine  he  gave  me,  three  times  a 
day.  The  chemist  says  it  is  compounded  of  poisons 
calculated  to  undermine  the  judgment  and  to  make 
him  who  takes  it  subject  to  easy  influence.  While 
I  supposed  it  was  intended  to  build  up  my  system,  it 
was  really  making  of  me  a  more  craven  creature 
than  nature  designed,  which  God  knows  was  unnec- 
essary. I  knew  as  well  as  I  knew  I  breathed  that 
I  had  no  right  to  marry  you  while  my  love  was  still 
Alma's,  but  I  was  in  no  condition  to  resist  the  strong 
mind  that  had  determined  to  bend  me  to  its  will. 
He  had  told  me  long  ago  that  he  would  rather  see 
me  in  my  grave  than  the  husband  of  the  girl  whose 
father  he  hated.  I  am  not  trying  to  find  an  excuse 
for  what  I  have  done,  but  only  to  let  you  see  that 
there  is,  after  all,  a  slight  palliation." 

She  leaned  toward  him  with  unmistakable  sym- 
pathy. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  what  you  have  suffered,"  she 


AN  ANGEL  FROM  HEAVEN.          327 

said,  sweetly.  "You  told  me  there  was  something 
more.  I  am  quite  prepared." 

He  hesitated,  but  was  reassured  by  her  manner. 

"Don't  despise  me  any  more  than  you  can  help," 
said  he.  "  I  had  no  right  to  marry  you,  for  another 
reason.  I — I  was  married  already." 

She  repeated  the  word  "Already,"  and  looked 
dazed. 

«  Yes." 

He  handed  her  Moseley's  certificate,  and  she  grew 
radiant. 

"  Are  you  certain  that  your  father  will  consent  to 
let  everything  drop  quietly  ?"  he  asked. 

*'  Certain  ?     I  can  swear  it !" 

"  Then  I  am  saved  !" 

They  talked  together  for  the  next  half  hour,  and 
his  gratitude  increased  momentarily. 

"  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  for  your  goodness  ?" 
he  cried. 

"  I  do  not  wish  thanks.  Something  makes  me  feel 
as  if  it  were  I  who  ought  to  thank  you." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?" 

'*  I  have  learned  that  I  did  not  love  you  as  I  thought 
I  did.  I  liked  you  so  well  as  the  friend  of  my  child- 
hood and  youth  that  I  mistook  the  sentiment  for  that 
of  love.  Had  we  lived  together  as  husband  and  wife 
a  few  months,  I  fear  the  knowledge  would  have  come 
to  me  when  it  was  too  late  to  retrace  our  steps- 
Alma  told  me  once,  many  years  ago,  that  she  thought 
I  would  make  a  very  nice  old  maid.  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  she  was  right." 

She  had  arisen,  and  he  took  her  by  the  hand  in  an 
ecstacy  of  delight. 

"  If  I  can  feel,  in  the  midst  of  my  own  happiness," 


898  THE  OARSTOTf  BIGAMY* 

he  said,  *  that  it  has]  not  been  purchased  at  the  cost 
of  yours^  there  will  be  nothing  left  for  me  to  desire." 

"  You  may  feel  it,"  said  Edith,  "  for  I  am  convinced 
that  it  is  true.  Now,  before  I  go,  can  you  not  send 
for  Alma,  that  I  may  assure  her  also  how  much  I 
desire  that  you  both  should  be  happy?" 

He  went  to  a  table  and  took  up  a  pen,  but  stopped 
before  he  had  begun  to  write. 

"  You  are  sure  you  will  say  nothing  to  cause  her 
distress  ?"  he  asked.  "  She  has  suffered  enough,  poor 
child,  already." 

"  Trust  me." 

He  looked  into  the  calm  blue  eyes,  and  went  on 
with  his  writing.  Sealing  the  note  in  an  envelope  he 
rang  for  a  messenger  and  despatched  it. 

When  Alma  came  he  met  her  in  another  apartment 
and  revealed  to  her  the  situation.  She  begged  for 
some  time  that  he  would  not  ask  her  to  see  Edith, 
but  finally  consented,  and  the  two  girls  came  into 
each  other's  presence.  An  hour  later  Gerald  found 
them  with  their  arms  about  each  other's  necks,  as  he 
had  seen  them  a  thousand  times  in  the  old,  contented 
days. 

"  We  understand  everything,"  said  Edith,  with  her 
finger  on  her  lips,  "  and  there  is  nothing  more  to 
say." 

As  he  looked  at  them  thus,  the  feeling  of  the 
past  came  back  foi  an  instant.  He  wanted  both  of 
them,  and  dreaded  the  opening  of  the  door  that  was 
to  send  one  away.  But  he  looked  again  at  Alma, 
and  knew  she  was  the  only  one  whose  loss  he  could 
not  bear. 

44 1  have  been  telling  your  wife,"  said  Edith,  and 
she  saw  that  both  of  them  shrank  as  if  she  had 


AS  AJTGEL  lHOlf  HEAVE*.  829 

struck  them,  "  that  you  ought  not  to  think  of  return- 
ing to  the  United  States  for  another  year.  If  you 
dislike  to  waste  the  time  you  should  have  devoted 
to  study,  it  is  easy  to  send  for  a  box  of  law  books 
and  read  at  your  leisure.  There  are  pleasant  and 
inexpensive  places  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean 
where  you  can  finish  the  winter,  and  there  are  vil- 
lages to  the  north  where  you  can  pass  the  heated 
term  that  follows." 

"  And  shall  we  ever  see  you  ?"  he  asked,  for  it 
seemed  like  parting  from  a  guardian  angel. 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered,  cheerfully.  "It  will 
depend  on  how  well  you  behave.  Alma  is  to  writa 
to  me  often,  giving  a  minute  account  of  your  con« 
duct." 

She  left  them  at  that,  going  alone  to  her  carriage, 
saying  that  she  preferred  it.  When  she  had  been 
away  an  hour  or  so,  Cliff  Nelson  came  and  was  told 
of  what  had  happened. 

"  And  you  let  her  go,  without  telling  me  she  was 
here  !"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly.  "Well,  if  I  ever  da 
anything  tor  you  again  '" 


330  THE  GARSTON   BIGAMY. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

SAVED    BY     A    MIRACLE. 

The  concluding  chapter  of  a  novel  is  like  the  post- 
script of  a  school-girl's  letter — there  are  so  many 
things  to  say  that  one  is  almost  sure  to  forget  the 
most  important  of  them. 

Ten  years  have  passed  since  "The  Garston 
Bigamy"  occurred,  and  the  secret  has  been  well 
kept.  Outside  of  those  intimately  concerned,  only 
you  and  I,  my  dear  reader,  have  ever  learned  of  it, 
and  we  are  too  honorable  to  divulge  what  we  know. 

John  Garston  will  not  reveal  it,  either.  He  was 
so  affected  when  he  heard  that  Gerald  had  really 
married  Alvah  Adams'  daughter  that  he  fell  into  a 
fever  in  London,  and  died  there.  His  son  came  to 
his  bed-side,  but  he  dismissed  him  with  curses,  and 
so  ended  his  life.  If  a  parent's  blessing  be  necessary 
for  success  on  this  earth,  Gerald  will  meet  with  losses, 
by-and-by.  At  present  he  seems  to  be  doing  very 
well  indeed,  pecuniarily  and  otherwise. 

He  never  went  back  to  Jefferson.  When  he  had 
finished  a  year  in  Europe  he  went  with  his  wife — and 
child,  it  would  not  do  to  forget  the  little  fellow — to 
New  York,  and  completed  his  law  studies  there, 
after  which  he  entered  a  pushing  firm  and  achieved 
success  in  the  profession.  He  told  Edith,  when  she 
came,  a  long  time  after,  to  visit  them,  that  he  had 
always  tried  to  give  his  talents  to  the  side  of  right, 
but  feared  he  had  sometimes  made  a  mistake.  He 
lives  in  a  residence  of  his  own  on  Seventy-second 


SAVED  BY  A  MIRACLE.  331 

Street ;  it  is  unnecessary  to  mention  the  number. 
And  three  children  who  look  like  him  climb  into 
the  pony-wagon  at  his  door  with  their  nurse  and 
mother,  on  pleasant  afternoons,  and  take  a  ride  in 
the  park. 

When  Edith  came  to  see  them,  she  did  not  come 
alone.  "  There  !"  I  hear  you  exclaim.  "  I  knew 
that  was  the  way  it  would  turn  out !"  Well,  of 
course  you  did.  But  I  must  tell  the  truth,  for  all  that. 
Clifford  Nelson  has  become — but  then,  you  have  fol- 
lowed his  career  as  well  as  I.  Prominent  at  the 
bar,  leader  of  his  party  in  the  Assembly  of  his  State, 
and  then  member  of  Congress  at  thirty-two.  Every- 
body knows  that,  but  everybody  does  not  know  that 
he  once  bribed  a  justice  of  the  peace  to  issue  a  false 
marriage  certificate.  We  know  it,  but  then,  it  was 
one  of  those  wrong  things  which  do  so  much  good 
that  a  man  ought  not  to  be  blamed  too  severely  for 
them.  Alma  and  Gerald  made  it  right  with  their 
consciences  by  taking  the  solemn  vows  before  a 
Protestant  minister  in  an  Italian  village,  and  the 
Iowa  record  certainly  saved  the  reputation  of  a  girl 
who,  though  she  did  love  unwisely,  has  made  one 
of  the  best  of  wives. 

There  are  two  old  men  of  Jefferson  who  are 
attached  friends,  rarely  spending  an  evening  when 
they  are  there  except  in  each  other's  company. 
People  remember  when  there  was  a  temporary  cold- 
ness between  them,  but  that  passed  away  a  decade 
since.  Both  of  them  go  away  quite  often  to  see 
their  married  daughters,  and  there  are  no  residents 
more  highly  respected  in  all  the  country-side. 

Thus  we  dispose  of  our  principal  characters. 
Happiness  seems  to  reign  among  them.  And  yet, 


882  THE  OARSTON  BIOAXY. 

O  young  and  foolish  reader,  do  you  think  that  pun* 
ishment  has  not  followed,  step  by  step,  each  infrac- 
tion of  the  moral  law  of  which  any  of  them  have 
been  guilty  ?  Do  you  believe  that  an  hour  passes 
when  Alma  Garston  does  not  wish  from  the  bottom 
of  her  heart  that  one  page  in  her  life  could  be  blot- 
ted out  ?  She  has  not  quite  the  courage  that  she 
would  have  had  to  look  all  the  world  in  the  face, 
and  there  are  times  when  her  sweet  cheek  reddens 
because  some  lady  in  her  presence  raises  her  voice 
to  denounce  a  hapless  wanderer  from  the  fold. 

"  I  was  saved  by  a  miracle,"  she  whispers  to 
herself.  "  But  for  Clifford's  bravery  and  Edith's 
sacrifice  I  might  have  been  even  as  those  despised 
ones." 


Tm  EWD. 


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